


Lutea

by Mrs_Colette



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Dark Hermione Granger, Dark Luna Lovegood, Dead Harry, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Psychological Torture, Ron Weasley Bashing, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-05-08 05:15:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 71,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14687247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Colette/pseuds/Mrs_Colette
Summary: What would happen if Gryffindor's Princess was given the keys to a darker kingdom? When Hermione goes bad, things go very, very bad.Voldemort wins, Harry is dead AU. Canon-compliant if you squint through HBP. This is going to be dark, rating is for lemons in later chapters.**I own nothing, and am exceedingly grateful that JK allows us to play in this magical world she has created. Not sure how'd she would feel about this one...look away, Jo, look away.





	1. Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> I'm only going to post these once, because I'm shit at remembering, honestly. This is a dark fic. I haven't written a lot for public consumption, but I know how my tastes run. There will be violence, rage, smut, a whole lot of swearing, and maybe even some scenes that make you want a shower. If you enjoy doormat Hermione, or refuse to believe she can be corrupted, this is NOT the story for you. She has such a delicious capacity for evil, and we will be exploring that here. That means there will be torture, non-con, blood, death, and puppy kicking, this is a world where Voldemort won! Just kidding on the puppy kicking though, unless you count Lupin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited to correct the date of the witch hunts in the Middle Ages...I had them a few hundred years too late. Thanks to Carols_Sister for pointing me in that direction!

Pausing her writing, Hermione tilted her head to the side and listened intently. Faintly, she could hear the sound of footsteps. As she waited to discern their direction, she glanced impassively at the wizard laying on the hardwood. His breathing was light, but strong. Rising from her desk, a faint smile played across her lips, knowing that he was resting peacefully. When she recognized the distinct tread making its way down her hallway, she quickly made her way to stand by the door, the only way into her chambers. She glanced around the room, organizing her thoughts. The room was impressive in its size, rivaling her parents old master bedroom. The furnishings were a mixture of Brownie carved oak and fine linens, a curious blend of magical and muggle. It suited her well, and was a place she found refuge. The yellows and blues were calming, and the furniture was delicate, a nod to her diminutive size. She smoothed her pale robes, and as the polished oak door began to creak open, a genuine smile lit her face for the first time in days. 

“My Lord,” she murmured, bending her knee and keeping her eyes on the creamy rug below her feet. “I am pleased to see you returned to us. What news do you bring from London?”

“The Minister is in good health and sends his regards. Your notes on Centaur relations were much appreciated and resulted in a favorable outcome for all parties. I am quite pleased to say that their lands have been doubled in size and they have agreed to their honorary seat in the Wizangamot. Who will be holding it is unclear, but they seemed quite taken aback at the offer. You are wise to have included them in your plans, Lutea, they have much to offer us,” Voldemort smiled down at the witch, who was still gazing at the floor. He placed his hand under her chin and lifted her head gently, rubbing his finger across her chin as he glanced into her large brown eyes. Skimming across her thoughts, he squeezed her chin affectionately before releasing her.

Blushing slightly, Hermione smiled at the positive outcome. “It was my honor to draft notes for Minister Malfoy, and I am thankful that they were beneficial in his meeting with the herd chieftains. I am pleased that they agreed to the seat, My Lord. There is so much to be learned from them, and I thank you for allowing them to have a voice in creating and enforcing the laws that govern them.”

Turning to the armchairs sitting at the hearth, Hermione gestured for Voldemort to have a seat. Walking past the slumbering wizard, the Dark Lord raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, choosing instead to settle into his customary seat. As Hermione perched in the smaller chair to his left, she waved her wand and the teapot began to fill with boiling water. Raising her voice slightly, she called for an elf. With a low crack, she appeared, her ears wobbling as she smiled at her Mistress.

“Jilly, would you bring us some pastries? A sweet and savory assortment, please. I find I am quite hungry, and I do not believe My Lord has eaten.”

“Yes Missy 'Mione, right away. Jilly knows just the treats to bring her ‘Mione and the Dark Lord,” the elf declared, the fringe on the purple flapper style dress she had discovered in the attic swaying, as though to further express her delight. “Would the Dark Lord be wanting Mistress Gini being brought to him?” The elf asked, her small face shining with pride. At Voldemort's nod, Hermione turned to her elf.

“That is so thoughtful, Jilly. I am so lucky to have an elf like you! Please bring Nagini in right away.”

As the elf popped away to sort out breakfast and find Nagini, Hermione waved her wand again and the tea began to pour itself. She knew it was considered poor etiquette, but she had never understood the design of requiring witches to pour tea when they could be carrying on conversation, as she herself was doing. Continuing their discussion on Voldemort's visit to London, Hermione was eager to learn more about the outcome of Minister Malfoy’s summit with those sentient Magical Creatures who had been marginalized for so long. She had sent the Dark Lord off with mountains of research, meticulously organised, on each species and the strengths they had to offer the wizarding world. She had also categorized their weaknesses, in the unlikely event the Ministry's terms were not favorably received. They talked at length about the Ministry's plan for Hags, Hermione expressing her distaste for the creatures. After a heated discussion about why the Ministry could not just burn the lot of them, the conversation turned to the vampires. More specifically, half-vampires. Voldemort was just beginning a story involving the Minister and Lorcan D’Eath, the delegate for WVA, or Wizards with Vampire Ancestry, as the sandy haired wizard began to stir from his place on the floor behind Hermione’s chair.

“I still can't believe Minister Malfoy agreed to meet with D’Eath. He is so pompous. You would think he was a member of the Weird Sisters to hear him talk about his ‘music career'. At least Lockhart had the decency to at least act humble. Did I ever tell you about the first time I met Lorcan?” Hermione asked Voldemort, pausing to take a sip of her tea. As he shook his head, she smiled and continued. “I was speaking with Sanguini-by the way, did you know his real name is Fitzroy? Could you imagine being immortal with a name like Fitzroy? I can't blame him for changing it, even if Sanguini is a little on the nose for my tastes,” Hermione giggled, the sound fully awakening the wizard, who sat up and began to stretch.

“When you see him next, ask him what he named his first cat,” Voldemort smirked, stroking Nagini fondly. “It is quite a good thing he has had a few hundred years to practice bestowing monikers.” As Voldemort spoke, the wizard stilled, the slight tension remaining in his shoulders the only thing betraying his anxiety.

“Oh now I'm going to be dying of curiosity,” Hermione chuckled. “Anyway, we were discussing my research on those classified as 'Beings’, and Lorcan, who must've been lurking nearby eavesdropping, strolled up and offered his 'invaluable expertise’ on half-vampires. I demurred, obviously,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes, “and he gave me a card for his WVA group. As he was walking away, Sanguini observed how it was obvious he had been born to a vampire, as even a dehydrated vampire would walk right past him. With his enhanced hearing, Lorcan of course heard the comment, but when he turned to confront him, he upset a passing tray of wine and ended up covered in Merlot. Narcissa shooed him out of the party, hissing at him all the while for causing a scene. His face was priceless!” Hermione reached for a treacle tart, snapping the fingers of her left hand as she did so. As the wizard heeded her summons, she placed the tart on the waiting dish and turned back to Voldemort. “Was the WVA pleased with the terms that the Minister presented?” 

“They seemed quite pleased with the final outcome, but Lorcan will not be holding the Wizangamot seat. He is preparing for another sold-out tour of housewives and teenagers.” Voldemort scoffed. “A witch named Crillex will be holding their seat.” Reaching for his own tea, he savored the delicate blend as he looked over at the small witch sitting across from him. Smiling at the picture she presented, sipping tea with a wizard kneeling at her feet, he decided they had spoken enough business for the morning. “My news has been dominating our conversation, Miss Granger,” he purred, enjoying the blush that crept up her neck at his words. “What have you been up to while I have been away? You've enjoyed yourself, I hope.” He replaced his cup on the low table and smiled benignly at the witch, who had leapt up and was walking across her room to the desk under the window. Gathering a few pages of parchment and an old tome, she crossed back to her seat, her eyes glittering. Setting the dish with the treacle tart at her feet, she placed the book reverently on the end table it had been occupying. Retaking her seat, she passed her notes over to Voldemort. 

“Draco invited me to lunch and a visit to the library at Malfoy Manor and I found the most delightful book. Helym’s Night Magicks, are you familiar?” She questioned. Not pausing for a response, she continued. “As I was reading, I realized that the spells were all marked with one of two symbols. Draco had never seen them before, and neither had Narcissa. They graciously allowed me to bring it home for a bit of light reading, but I couldn't get those marks out of my mind. Spotting a similar looking mark in the Abbess’ journal Thorfinn gifted me finally gave me a lead. A few hours in the library determined that they were Druish markings indicating left and right. I couldn't believe it! I've always casted with my right arm, as we are taught in school. These spells are centuries old, and indicated that wizards used a different method to determine wand hands. Using some muggle neurology books, I did some research to determine what effect our casting arm could have on the outcome of the spell casting. Scientists have determined that the left hemisphere of our brains activate when using logic, while the right hemisphere is more artistic. The spells that indicated the left hand should be used were those that required concentration, while the right hand spells were those whose outcome was based heavily on desire.” Here Hermione paused for a sip of tea, her hand finding it's way into the hair of the wizard still kneeling at her feet. Stroking his hair absentmindedly, she took a sip of tea before continuing. “From the research I have accumulated so far, it appears that ambidextrous spell casting fell out of use around the 1200s, around the same time that using ones left hand was declared a mark of the Devil by the Muggle Church. I would wager the practice was discontinued due to the desire to keep ones left hand attached to the body, as the Church began to practice the barbaric act of cutting off the left hands of those who relied on them too regularly. I am only just beginning to study the implications of wand hands on the spells we use today, however from what I have seen so far it could change everything.”

“My Lutea, how you continue to delight me. I know the book of which you speak, however I have only referenced it on one or two occasions, nothing that would have given me the insight that you have indicated. It continues to amaze me the things you can accomplish in such a short span of time. Please keep me apprised of your research.” Hermione bowed her head, a pleased smile breaking out across her face. “However,” Voldemort continued, a slight frown on his face, “I do hope you haven't spent my entire absence holed up in your rooms researching. You've had company, I see,” he smirked, acknowledging the wizard for the first time since entering her room. 

“I would remind you, My Lord, that you indicated I could spend my time however I desired while you were away. It has been so long since I was able to engage in a pursuit of my own choosing that I admit to spending most of my time researching. Not that I don't find your requests to be quite, fulfilling,” Hermione added, a smirk of her own settling on her features, “but it has been delightful to study simply for the sake of gaining knowledge. Researching when one knows another party already holds the answers I seek just doesn't have quite the same appeal. I have thoroughly enjoyed this gift of idle time, My Lord, and I thank you again for it.” Glancing at the wizard kneeling with his head bowed, Hermione gave a single nod. Lowering himself on all fours, he began to eat the pastry from the china dish she had laid down. Smiling up at Voldemort, she continued. “I have found a method of training that is most effective My Lord. If I could beg your indulgence one final time this morning I could give you a demonstration?”

Leaning back in his chair, saitied from the breakfast he had eaten, Voldemort smiled beatifically and gestured for her to continue. 

“Most training techniques rely on reward and punishment to ensure the desired behaviors are learned. The implementation of those punishments and rewards can be quite varied, and have differing levels of success. I have observed that when one is training a sentient being for the desired outcome, that model is less than effective. For example, if I was upset that my floor was being dirtied by the crumbs of a messy eater, traditionally I might’ve rubbed his face in the mess and demanded he do better next time. That would then require me to wait until the next feeding to determine if the desired outcome had been learned to bestow a reward. Effective? Possibly. Time consuming? Certainly. There is much to be said for simply Crucioing those who displease me, but I find that being feared in such close quarters is distasteful. I'll leave that to Bellatrix and Theo, I think. It is much more satisfying to me to look upon my pets and know that they do what I wish, even against their will, because their desire to please me overrides their original nature. Instilling that desire to please requires finesse, and the end result is much more rewarding.” Hermione reached down and grabbed the wizard by the hair at the base of his skull, roughly forcing his head up to look at Voldemort. Leaning down, she positioned her mouth next to his ear. “Our Lord has honored us with His presence and you have dirtied my floor. Have I not given you the best of my own meals since you've come to me? Is this how you honor me? I am ashamed of you. I am so disappointed.” Releasing his head, she sat back in her chair. He sat back on his heels and tried to lean into her, but she crossed her legs and turned to face the fire. Whimpering, the wizard leaned forward and began to lick the crumbs off the ornate rug. Once the floor was cleaned, he resumed his position on his knees and bowed his head, trembling. Not turning back to him, Hermione whispered “Apologize to Our Lord for your slovenly ways.” He froze, lifting his face to her, fear written on his face. Eyes softening, Hermione reached for him, her hand caressing the side of his face. “You only need to fear My Lord if you displease me. You want me to be happy with you, don't you? Apologize to him, and I will be so happy with you.” His eyes fell closed as she touched him, the tension leaving his frame. Hermione continued to pet him for a moment, feeling Voldemort’s amused gaze. Her other hand grasped her wand as the warmth left her voice. “Apologize. Now. My patience is wearing thin.”

He crawled to Voldemort and lowered himself as his feet, kissing the hem of his robe. He remained in that supplicant position as Voldemort laughed, the delighted sound echoing off the painted walls of her room. “Lutea, you are a treasure. Merlin smiled the day you came to us at Malfoy Manor. Enjoy your new pet, darling, I will see you at dinner. Lupin, it's been a pleasure, as always.” Rising to their feet, the pair crossed the room. Voldemort kissed Hermione's cheek before leaving, the door closing firmly behind him. As she turned back to the wizard still kneeling on the floor, a smile played across her lips. Raising the wand still in her left hand, she spoke. “Crucio.” As the wizards screams filled the spacious room, she returned her notes to her desk and opened the text. His screams died away as she resumed her research, and when she looked up he had drifted into unconsciousness. Lifting the wand from the desk, she crossed back to the hearth. Scowling in disgust at the mess he had made of himself, she Evanescoed the mess and straightened his robes. Kneeling next to him, she tucked his hair behind his ear. Raising her wand, she whispered “Obliviate.” Not bothering to replace the memory she removed, she returned to her desk, ready to note the effects of cursing the werewolf with her non-dominant hand. As she recorded the results in her journal, she reflected on what she had discussed with Voldemort. While a heavy hand with torture would never suit her, there was certainly something to be said for the primal, unnamed fear that lurked in ones subconscious, far beyond the reaches of a memory altering spell. That sort of fear, she found, suited her quite nicely.


	2. Visiting Hours

Hermione remained at her desk, lost in her research. Vaguely, she was aware of Jilly performing her cleaning tasks, clearing the remnants of breakfast and changing her linens. She kept a careful eye on the elf as she levitated Lupin to his bed with a look of disdain on her small features. She did manage to get all of him onto the pile of blankets Hermione kept for him in the corner, so hopefully her dislike of him was lessening. Considering he killed her cousin during a full moon, perhaps not. As though to confirm Hermione's inner dialogue, Jilly kicked his shin with her bare foot, nodding in satisfaction at a job well done. Smiling at Hermione, Jilly popped away. Waving her wand, a blanket settled over the werewolf, and Hermione left him to sleep on. Returning to her notes, the morning passed quickly.

She was just beginning to organize her findings to give Voldemort the next day when Jilly popped into the room with a small covered tray.

“Jilly is bringing her 'Mione a snack because she has been working for four hours and takes no breaks. Missy 'Mione needs to eat!” The elf declared, setting the tray on the low end table next to her arm chair.

“Has it really been four hours? Thank you Jilly! You take such good care of me!” Hermione exclaimed, standing up from her desk and groaning as she stretched out her back. She never understood how she could feel no discomfort while she was researching, only to feel all of it the moment she looked up from her books. Sliding her notes into her desk drawer and locking it wandlessly, she walked into her en suite bathroom to wash the ink from her fingers. Looking at her reflection, she paused to scrutinize the image looking back at her. She hadn’t changed much from her last year at Hogwarts, not really. While some of the less savory followers of the Dark Lord claimed otherwise, Hermione knew she was plain. She had the same brown eyes, although she had come to find the beauty in their doe-like qualities. Her hair was absolutely unchanged, and it had drawn some unwelcome comparisons to Bellatrix when she first arrived. As a result, she wore it most days in a braid. Now that she had started assisting Severus, it was much more convenient. Her body was shapely, that was true, but the wizarding robes she now wore almost daily concealed that from view. Aside from the occasional Revel, and her own ceremony, she remained covered. As much as she had changed from her school girl days, she still didn't enjoy having her body on display.

Smiling at her vain thoughts, she turned from her reflection and dried her hands. As she came back into her room, she noticed Lupin had sat up on his bed, and was blinking his eyes in confusion. Hermione smirked at the look on his face. The last thing he would remember would be kneeling at Voldemort's feet, but he was familiar enough with the Cruciatus to recognize the after effects. Hermione wondered who he would blame for that as she allowed a smile to fill her voice.

“Good morning again, sleepy head! It's already time for lunch! Jilly,” the elf popped back in, looking slightly confused but eager to please, “please send up the normal lunch. Rice today, I think.” The elf nodded, sparing a single glare to the corner of the room.

Snapping her fingers as the elf vanished from sight, Hermione continued her path to her arm chair, smiling down at Lupin as he settled at her feet. As the tray with a rare steak, green beans, and the requested brown rice appeared in it's customary place on the floor, he started to lean forward. Hermione placed her hand on his shoulder, stopping his movement. Leaning down she picked up his tray and set it temporarily on the seat of the larger armchair. Conjuring a wooden crate, she Summoned the lace runner from her desk. Laying the runner on top of the crate, she placed the tray on top of the makeshift table. Looking over the spread, she frowned as she tapped her wand on her chin. Pausing to remember the charm, she waved her wand. Sitting back on her heels, she laughed delightedly as silverware, a goblet of water, and a candle appeared on the crate. Lighting the candle with a flourish, she looked at the werewolf. Smiling at his bewilderment, she reached out to grasp his chin. Her thumb traced his jawline, feeling the gentle tremors still afflicting his frame. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

“I am proud of you. You did so well. Even the Dark Lord was pleased! This is your reward. I apologize for the lack of wine, but I don't think your stomach can handle that.” Hermione smiled gently. “I know it wasn't easy for you, but I am truly delighted with how you handled yourself. Please, eat!”

She rose from the floor and settled back into her chair. Gazing into the fire, she bit into one of the tea sandwiches Jilly had brought, thinking wistfully about muggle crisps. As she pondered how to explain a salt and vinegar flavored crisp to a house elf, her hand threaded it's way into Lupin’s hair. Smiling as she felt him relax into her, she continued to stroke his hair. Taking another bite of her sandwich, Hermione caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Subtly turning her gaze to the wizard, she watched him meticulously cut up his steak, hands trembling slightly, seeming the savor the feel of silverware in his hands. As he set the knife to the side of the tray, Hermione mused over how long it may have been since he had used utensils. She knew they weren't used among Greyback’s disgusting pack, but she wasn't sure if he had gone from that assignment directly to the Astronomy Tower that fateful night. He had been captured by Gibbon who brought him to the cells below Malfoy Manor about five years ago. Taking the last bite of her lunch, she sharpened her gaze as she watched another spasm hit his body, causing him to spill rice all over the makeshift table top. Sucking in a breath, he lifted his eyes to meet hers. Shaking her head, she clicked her tongue. Lupin leaned forward, his tongue flicking out ready to clean the lace. Hermione tightened her grip on his hair and pulled him back flush with the arm of her chair.

She leaned down and whispered in his ear. “Lord Voldemort isn't here anymore. I'm not upset, I know you're out of practice. Just try your best and do better next time.” Loosening her grip, Hermione sat back in her seat. Lupin stilled, bowing his head before leaning back down to clean the grains of rice from the cloth. Hermione’s eyes sparkled as she watched him, pride filling her chest. “Good boy,” she whispered, her hand finding it's way back into Lupin's hair as he nuzzled into her leg. “Finish all your lunch and I'll make us some tea. I’ll even get out your chocolate biscuits.” Looking up at her, Lupin smiled softly, a blush still on his cheeks from her praise. As he resumed his meal, Hermione Summoned a book from the shelf next to the fireplace. Reopening her Yule present from Thorfinn, Hermione let herself get lost in the journal of the first Abbess of Kildare Abbey, an Irish Monastery that was destroyed in the 12th century. She was a witch and a Druidess who kept her identity a secret in an attempt to protect the old ways of the Druids as the Romans tried to stamp them out. Her journal was fascinating, and she couldn't wait to thank Thorfinn again when she saw him next.

Startling slightly as Lupin dropped his fork onto his place, she looked over to see he had cleared his plate. Banishing their plates and utensils back to the kitchen, she filled her teapot with boiling water. Knowing he preferred her bergamot scented blend, she placed the leaves in the diffuser, closed the lid and allowed it to steep. Rising from her chair, she crossed to the cabinet built into her bookcase. Removing the tin of biscuits, she shook it lightly, listening to the rattle. The wizard on the floor perked up at the noise, and Hermione suppressed a giggle. She poured two cups of tea, and placed one on his impromptu table. Dropping three sugar cubes into his tea, she laid a spoon on the saucer. Opening the tin, she took out 2 biscuits, smiling at the bone shape the elves cut them into. Holding one of the treats between her thumb and index finger, she dangled it just above Lupin's nose.

“Do you want it?” She smiled as he nodded his head. “Beg for it. Sit pretty Moony.”

Rising up on his knees, the wizard sat up straight. “Good boy!” She laughed light-heartedly, feeding him the biscuit. As he sat back on feet, chewing, he returned her grin. Returning to her seat, she poured a cup of tea for herself. Stirring in a little milk, she took a drink before dipping the remaining biscuit in her tea. Nibbling on the edge, she heard the clock on the wall chime. Looking up, she sighed as she saw the time. Watching the werewolf stir his tea, she took another drink of her own before setting her cup back on the side table. Giving Lupin the remainder of her biscuit, she smiled as he took a long drink of his tea. Rising again, she walked to her closet. Choosing her clothes, she walked out and laid them on her bed. Turning to the mirror, she began to undo the plait in her hair.

“I’m afraid I got a bit lost in my research today. Can you believe it's already time for me to go visit our friend? I know we usually take a walk before I go, but there is so much to learn about the effects of brain hemispheres on spell casting. I still think I've barely scratched the surface. Would you like to take go with me? It's still early, we can take a walk in garden after. Wouldn't it be nice to see all the flowers in bloom? I'm sure he would love to see another friendly face.” Watching the wizards face pale as he set his cup down, hands shaking for a new reason, she bent at the waist and tousled her curls even more. Straightening, she took a critical look in the mirror. Satisfied with the unruly mass of curls she saw in her reflection, she resumed her train of thought.

“He's all alone down there, Moony. He must be so scared and lonely. Think of how much it would mean to him to see us both! But because you have been so good today I will offer you a choice.” Pausing to undo her robes, she let them fall to the floor. Sucking in a breath, the werewolf’s eyes fell to the floor. Grabbing her jeans from the bed, she continued. “You can go with me and then take your walk in the garden. We will come back here and I'll even let you pick a book to read while I'm at dinner.” Watching his eyes turn longingly to her bookcases, she fastened her jeans and took the jumper from the bed. Looking in the mirror, she watched him in the reflection. “However, if you do not wish to accompany me, you can remain here while I visit our friend. I will give him your regards. Instead you will join me for dinner, and you can take your walk with myself and the Dark Lord afterwards.” Pulling the jumper over her head, she turned back to Lupin, a wide smile on her face. He sucked in a breath, eyes filled with terror.

Glancing down at the large H emblazoned on her chest, she pouted at him. “Is the sweater too much? It was Harry's you know,” she mused, turning back to the mirror. “That old bitch never made me one.” Turning back and forth in the mirror, she shrugged. “I think you're right, it is a bit much.” Laughing, she walked back into her closet, emerging in a simple t-shirt. “Which will it be, pet? Would you like to spend the evening reading by the fire?”

Shaking his head frantically, he curled in on himself, refusing to answer her question.

Eyes flashing, Hermione crossed the room and knelt across from him. Holding her wand in her left hand, she raised it slightly, noting with interest the barely perceptible flinch he gave when he saw the wand in her non-dominant hand. Filing that information in the back of her mind, she laid it down and picked up his discarded spoon instead. Toying with it, she spoke softly. “I couldn't hear you, Moony. Is that how we ask for the things that we want?” Placing the bowl of the spoon in the candle flame, she grabbed his chin with her other hand. Forcing him to meet her gaze, she purred. “We've talked about your manners before, haven't we? I thought you had learned this lesson.” Dropping his chin, she grabbed his left arm and laid it flat across the crate, the force of her action sending his tea cup crashing to the floor. Watching it shatter, she looked back into his eyes. “Ask me nicely, Lupin.”

“H-h-hermione, please,” He stammered, eyes wide with fear.

Removing the spoon from the flame, she pressed it into the flesh of his inner wrist. As he cried out she said, “What was that, Lupin?”

“May I go to dinner, please!” he screamed as his flesh burned.

Releasing his arm, she smiled at the oval marking his flesh. “Now was that so hard?” She asked, Summoning some burn paste from the bathroom. Rubbing it into the burn as he cried softly, she murmured soothingly to him. After his tears dried, she climbed around the crate and into his lap, pulling him into a hug. His head lay on her chest as one hand rubbed his back and the other toyed with his hair. Rocking him slightly, she hummed an old Muggle tune.

“You know I hate hurting you, Moony, but sometimes you leave me no choice. Is it still very painful?” As he shook his head, she smiled down at him. “You are so strong. Do you know how much you mean to me? After everything that's happened, everything's thats changed, I am so happy to have you here with me.”

After his breathing slowed and he relaxed into her, she stood, adjusting her shirt. Crossing the room, she replacing the paste in the medicine cabinet, before leaving the bathroom, locking the door behind her. 

“I'll be back in a few hours. I don't think I'll have time to take you for your walk before dinner, so don't make any messes for Jilly. You know how she hates to tidy up after you.” Nodding his head, Lupin crawled back to his bed and laid down, his injured arm extended out in front of him. 

Turning on the wizarding wireless for him to listen to while she was out, Hermione paused to pet him before she left. Smiling faintly, he nestled down into his blankets. “That's it, take a nap. I'll be back soon.” Walking to the door, she paused to Ward her desk and the bookshelves before heading into the hallway. Locking the door behind her, she grasped her wand and Apparated to Malfoy Manor.


	3. Unwelcome News

Arriving in the foyer of Malfoy Manor, she tucked her wand into the back pocket of her jeans. Walking out of the foyer, she set off on her familiar route. Her eyes taking in the familiar sights as she walked, she smiled ruefully at the improbability of Malfoy Manor seeming like a second home. That is exactly what it was, however. Once he got over the shock at her initiation, Draco had been quick to offer support to the witch who had turned her back on everyone she knew. That wasn't to say that they had gotten along any better than they had as school mates, but they had managed to broker a cautious peace. They still fought, however, to spectacular ends. During their last fight, in Draco's study, Draco had physically thrown her across the room before she recreated one of her fondest memories from their fourth year. Hermione had been delighted to find that ferret bones were much more fragile, and as a result both his legs were shattered when Hermione transformed him back. In a haze of pain and rage, he hit her with a Deprimo charm, effectively compressing her lower limbs. Her screams of rage, combined with Draco's howls of pain, had brought Lucius and Narcissa running, wands drawn. The last thing Hermione remembered was the tall wizard kneeling over her, smoothing her hair and casting diagnostic spells. 

She woke up the next day, in a luxurious room with two full sized beds. She spent a week of convalescence trapped in that room with Draco, Lucius having sternly informed them that they needed to work through their problems like adults. Ever since that week, and the resulting punishment for their immature behavior that had been meted out by Voldemort, Draco and Hermione had become almost inseparable. While Lucius and Narcissa were still mildly uncomfortable with Hermione's casual embraces, they were a surrogate family to her, her forceful nature and raw power having quickly eroded any lingering prejudice regarding her birth. Bringing herself out of her wandering thoughts, she peeked into the doorway of library on her way past. Spotting Narcissa, she changed course and entered the grand room. The library was her favorite spot in the Manor despite how cliche she knew it was. After her first year at Hogwarts, her parents had surprised her with a VHS of Beauty and the Beast. The library here always reminded her of the beautiful space that had been locked away all those years with the hidden prince. Closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, she smiled at the soft laughter of the Lady of the Manor. 

“Good afternoon, Miss Granger,” Narcissa called from the settee. “Visiting time again?”

“Hello Narcissa,” Hermione replied, a warm smile on her face. “Yes, I am heading down now. Would you like to accompany me? I can tell you about the morning I spent with Our Lord. Unless you will be joining us for dinner?”

Rising from her seat, the elegant witch marked her place in her book, placing it on the brocade before crossing the room to embrace the younger woman, affection evident in the gesture. Releasing her, she held her at arm's length, wrinkling her nose at Hermione's casual attire. Shaking her head as the younger witch shrugged apologetically, she looped her arm through Hermione's and they turned to the door. 

“Draco and I shall. Lucius can't get away. Ah, the perils of public service,” Narcissa smiled as the witches left the library. Strolling down the hall, Hermione recounted her conversation with Voldemort, Narcissa’s delicate laugh echoing through the long corridors as Hermione reminded her of last year's Yule ball. 

“Now that is the true peril of public service, I'm afraid. Being forced to entertain wizards like Lorcan in my home. I am relieved to hear he won't be sitting on the Wizangamot. He always puts Lucius in such a foul temper. Is that all you and My Lord discussed this morning?” Narcissa asked, disappointed. “How unexciting. I had hoped for at least a little gossip or a naughty story.”

Swatting Narcissa's arm playfully, Hermione couldn't resist teasing the witch. “Well the Dark Lord did tell me a most interesting story about the Minister, a beautiful blonde witch and a Ministry conference table. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?” Cursing softly at the stinging hex Narcissa sent her way, she grinned up at her. 'Touchy, touchy! You're the one who asked for naughty story! I have had success with those marks I found in Helym's Night Magicks. Do you remember them? They are Druish marks indicating left and right, because Druid wizards casted ambidextrously. I finally figured it out thanks to my Abbess’ journal, the one Thorfinn gave me. I hope I remember to thank him again tonight. It has proved an unexpected treasure.” Hermione said, a warm smile on her face. 

“Speaking of dinner,” Narcissa began, a knowing glint filling her eye as she caught the flush creeping up Hermione's neck, “Who all will be joining us?”

“Tonight's guest list was chosen by My Lord, as he has news from London he wishes to share. I believe it will be the usual guests, Severus, Rodolphus and Bellatrix, Thorfinn, Rabastan, Regulus, Antonin, The Carrows and Lupin,” she replied, her voice growing soft as she finished her list.

“Lupin?” Narcissa questioned, disbelief on her face. “Remus Lupin?”

“I do believe he is the last of his line, Narcissa, so yes. Greyback did something or other to displease My Lord serendipitously the same day that I finally perfected my Ossum Vitreus curse. He knew that I was missing Crooks, and he was so pleased with the success of my work that he gifted him to me as a new pet. He's not as willful as my old boy was, but he has been a delight. I invited him with me here today, but he wanted to come to dinner with us instead. Don't worry, he'll be on his best behavior.” Pointedly ignoring the other witch’s knowing smirk, she continued. “I would imagine Theo, Blaise, Daphne and Gregory will be there as well, you know My Lord likes to invite a few of my peers to keep me company. If you would warn Draco, Pansy desired an invitation as well.”

“Pansy desired an invitation to what? Good afternoon Mother, Granger,” Draco drawled, coming out of his study as they were about halfway to their destination. Kissing his mother's cheek, he bent down and gave Hermione one of her own. Straightening, he eyed her up and down. “Looking good, Golden Girl,” he teased, his hand tugging on a wild curl. “Takes me right back to sixth year.”

Sticking her tongue out at the tall blonde, she turned up her nose playfully when he offered his arm. “Hello Draco. I was advising your mother to warn you that Pansy was angling for a dinner invitation, and as our group is uneven, Our Lord may give in to her request. I thought you might appreciate the opportunity to see if a particular blonde was free this evening? Although I doubt I can make it through an entire dinner without hexing Pansy, so we would always have that to liven up the evening.” As the trio laughed, Hermione turned to give Narcissa a kiss on the cheek before continuing to the dungeons. “I will see you this evening, Narcissa. Thank you for accompanying me through the Manor.”

Smiling at the younger witch, Narcissa replied. “It was a pleasure as always, my dear. I will see you at dinner.” Turning from the pair, she glided back down the hall, presumably back to the library to finish her book.

Watching his mother leave, Draco smiled down at Hermione. “Let's be off then, I have something to discuss with you.”

Linking arms with Draco, they continued walking through the halls of the Manor, greeting the portraits as they passed by. Draco cleared his throat. “I had lunch with Theo and Severus today,” he began, an strange tone in his voice. At Hermione's questioning look, he told Hermione what he had learned from his meeting with Theo.

“There's been another attack on Pretannike,” he said simply, anger filling his aristocratic features. “The children were in the play yard this time, and there were casualties. One of the teachers was hit with an Entrail Expelling curse, and while a few of the children have minor injuries, two are in critical condition at St Mungo’s, and a young girl was killed. They're getting bolder, and seem to have lost their concern for civilian casualties. What could they be thinking, going after children like that?”

“That was meant as a message for me, I would imagine,” Hermione replied, her voice cold. “Pretannike is my creation, and they know I am there frequently. If they have any real information as to my whereabouts they would’ve known I was due for a visit, as I am usually there on Thursdays. However with the Dark Lord travelling, he relieved me of my usual duties and I spent the week researching. They must be getting desperate, I can't imagine they thought fondly of attacking innocent children and teachers.” Hermione felt a Darkness creep into her bones as she thought of Pretannike, the school she created. It was the one concession she had fought for, bled for, the education and care of muggleborn children. With Severus Headmaster at Hogwarts, they had access to the roster of muggleborn children. Whenever a new name appeared, a member of the Dark Lord’s followers would surveil the child's home life. If it was discerned that the child was loved, the child was taken and the parents and connected parties Obviated. In the rare occasions where the child was in a dangerous situation, as was sadly becoming more and more frequent with drug use and violence becoming more commonplace, no such efforts were made, and the child was simply taken. In all cases, the children were fostered with loving families, magical children being seen as a gift from Morgana herself, and not something to be squandered. When they reached school age, they spent the school year at Pretannike, learning those skills that would benefit them in the future, spelling and penmanship being foremost among them, at Severus’ urgent demand.

This was the third such attack, the previous two having such little success that Hermione could now see that they were nothing more than ruses to get them to underestimate their opponents.

“We made the most of it, thanks to Rita. I know you dislike her, but she was brilliant, interviewing the survivors and photographing the wreckage. It was the front page of the Prophet this morning, I will send you a copy,” Draco offered, opening the door that led down to the dungeons. “The girl's name was Prianka, she was one of the Nott twins, her brother is Pieter. The teacher was Kerrie Beth, she had only just graduated Hogwarts and was starting her apprenticeship. They are making miniature Ravenclaw ties for the children, they will wear them all next week. Her family was notified today, Father wants their funerals held at the Ministry.”

As they began to make their way down the stone steps, Hermione began to rant.

“I just wish I could've been there. It wouldn't have stopped them, of course, and in all probability would've made the situation worse, but there would've been casualties on both sides.”

“They did sustain a few losses, but no one of any real value. The Abbot girl, I think, and another man we've yet to identify. There was an arm left in the wreckage we've identified as a Weasley, but we believe it to be the result of a Splinching, not by any effort on our part,” Draco commented, his voice wistful.

“Damn those Weasleys. I was hoping we'd seen the last of them. There can't be that many left, what with Percy weaseling his way in with Lucius, our current guest and My Lord's little pet. It must be that dragon one, Charlie. He has been causing trouble in the West, Viktor tells me,” Hermione scoffed. 

Opening the door to the cells, she looked up at Draco. He opened his mouth to speak, but hermione shook her head. Placing a finger to her lips, she squeezed his hand in farewell as she turned to slip through. Draco tugged her back to him,and enveloping her in a tight hug. She allowed herself to relax into his embrace doe a moment before turning back to the door. Squeezing his thin hand in hers, she smiled up as him sadly before walking through the door. As the door closed behind her, Draco continued deeper into the dungeon, eager to for a visit with Blaise before the formal dinner that evening. 

As Hermione paused to allow her eyes to acclimate to the dim lighting, she let the sounds of the chamber wash over her. Crying and moaning filled the vast room, and she pushed the incident at Pretennike to the back of her mind as she made her way to the farthest cell.


	4. Memory Lane

“Ron?” She called, forcing a tremor of fear into her voice. “Ron, are you there?”

“Hermione? Is that you?” A weak voice replied.

Walking to the front of his cell, Hermione looked in at the battered wizard. His trademark red hair had been shorn close to his scalp, dried blood marking where the shears had gotten too close. Bruises marked his skin and his clothing hung in tatters. He rose shakily from the floor, making his way to the bars that separated them.

“What's going on? Are you alright? Where's Harry?” He asked, his hand slipping through the iron to grasp her hand.

Forcing herself not to recoil at his touch, Hermione sighed. 

“You in the dungeons below Malfoy Manor, Ron. Do you remember the Snatchers?” she asked, pleased at her attempt to keep her voice gentle. 

“It was so cold, so rainy. I don't think I've ever seen that much rain. Lovegood was a right nutter, huh? Wait, Harry! Where's Harry? Did Malfoy snitch on us?” Ron cried, suddenly agitated. 

“Harry is dead, Ron. Voldemort killed him. Don't you remember? The night that we were taken by the Snatchers, Malfoy was to scared to identify us? Lovegood did it instead. It was a trap, all of it. Can't you remember?” Hermione replied gently, taking another step closer to the wizard.

“A-a trap? What are you talking about 'Mione? We had just destroyed a Horcrux. He didn't mean to trigger the Taboo, it was an accident!” Ron cried, his voice rising.

“Use your brain, Ronald,” Hermione snapped viciously, her patience snapping. “Even with the Taboo in place, how do you think the Snatchers knew exactly where to find us? In what world would a seventeen year old witch with no special training know Warding spells so strong that they could keep the most powerful Wizard in the world in the dark? Did you really have that much confidence in my books and cleverness? It truly never stuck you as suspicious that barely a week after you came back from your little trip home to Mummy we were captured? It was a trap, and it was all your fault, Ronniekins. If you hadn't run home to your comfortable bed and meals cooked with love Harry would still be alive.” Hermione spit, her voice full of venom. “We spent weeks without you, weeks with no sign of a single other human being, except that unpleasantness with Bagshot. Then you come back, crowing about that stupid fucking Potterwatch, getting Harry so excited he forgot all the rules. There were rules, Ronald! Rules that kept us safe!”

“No, it's not my fault! It was the Taboo! Harry said You-Know-Who’s name and they found us. It wasn't my fault!” Ron cried, his voice breaking as his temper rose.

“Now now, Ronald. ‘Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself.' His name is Voldemort. Surely you aren't still afraid of something as silly as that?” Hermione smiled, the coldness in her eyes causing Ron to let go of her hand and take a step away from her.

Grabbing the front of his shirt, Hermione pulled him flush against the bars of his cell. “Harry died believing in you, Ron, with your name on his lips. What would he think of you, I wonder, trying to assuage your own guilt by blaming him for triggering the Taboo, for causing his own death? Where is that famed Gryffindor loyalty now, hmm?”

“At least I'm not a Mudblood Death Eater’s whore!” he cried, spitting in her face.

Releasing him, she took a step back and wiped the moisture from her face. Calming herself, she smiled kindly.

“I see we’ve come back to reality a little ahead of schedule. Let's dispense with the playacting, then, hmm?” Removing her wand from her back pocket, she ran it across the bars of his cell. “I've been doing some research this week. Would you like to see? It's fascinating, really, the insight our ancestors had into magic. Well, your ancestors, I suppose, since I'm nothing but a swotty little mudblood whore. Let's see if my research is correct, shall we?”

Taking a step back from his cell, she smiled at him. “You see, the Druids ascertained that certain spells were more powerful based on the hand you used to cast. If I were to, let's say, freeze your blood,” she winked, Ron backing further into his cell, horror on his face, “I would want to cast that spell right handed for greatest effect, as I desire a precise result. See? Sangelo.

Ron looked panicked, cringing on the cell floor and waiting for the spell to take effect. Hermione sneered at him as the spell slowly began to take its toll. His hands and feet stiffened first, the wizard crying out in pain as the tissue began to swell to accommodate the expanding of the blood in his veins. As the spell moved toward his torso, his arms and legs contorted and stiffened into painful looking positions. Ron’s cries grew louder as the spell began affecting more delicate areas, his internal organs and spine. Ending the spell abruptly, Hermione spoke. 

“Did you notice that, Ron? By using my right hand, the logical side of my brain took control, allowing me the outcome that was exactly what I desired. All the blood in your body began to freeze, but slowly, to allow for optimum consciousness. If I had used my left hand, you probably would’ve ended up a mess all over the floor. Severus did that once. The spell moved too quickly and the wizard exploded. His body simply couldn't take the pressure, you see,” she relayed conversationally, murmuring the counter-curse. As Ron’s limbs slowly returned to normal, his cries of pain grew louder as the blood in his body rapidly cooled and began to flow again.

Impatiently waiting for the red haired wizard to stifle his cries, Hermione tossed her wand in the air, laughing cruelly as the wizard flinched, and she caught it in her left hand before continuing. “However, if I were to desire a more primal curse, a simple Crucio, for example, I would need to cast using my left hand, allowing my emotions to guide the curse to the greatest effect.”

Hermione took a step closer to the cell Ron was in and raised her left arm. 

“Crucio,” she spoke softly, her mouth caressing the word.

The effect was instantaneous. Ron’s screams filled the cell for a moment before Hermione Silenced them. Looking around at the other cells, she waved at the few familiar faces she saw peering back at her. Turning back to Ron, she ended both spells simultaneously. 

“Now isn't that interesting! Could you feel the difference, Ron? By using my left arm, my brain allowed my emotions to rule over my casting. It really does give it a little extra kick.” Hermione grinned at the panting wizard, a playful look in her eyes. “I've only just begun exploring, but I can say the preliminary data is quite promising. My experiment this morning was quite eye opening. Oh! That reminds me, Moony sends his regards. I invited him to join us for our weekly chat, but he preferred to attend dinner with me this evening. Quite sad, isn't it? You're down here all alone, no visitors except for me, and Lupin would rather wear my collar and sit at my feet, playing nice to Death Eaters than come brighten your day. What does that say about you, I wonder? He has quite literally chosen an evening of public humiliation over an hour spent in your pleasant company.”

As Ron began to cry softly, Hermione sat on the damp stone floor outside his cell.

“There, there, Ron, it's not so bad! You know, I've asked the guards to leave you alone? Not all us Gryffindor's are so disloyal. Instead of being tortured daily, I have you all to myself. And you're in luck! Moony has put me in quite a forgiving mood. Which is quite the relief for you, I must say, as Draco gave me some awful news on the way down. I think he was hoping it would affect our visit, the nasty little ferret,” she said, affection evident in her tone. “I’m sure you can't wait for storytime, so I'll give you a choice. Right handed or left, hmm?”

Ron glared at her, hatred in his features as he angrily swiped at his eyes. “Fuck off, you crazy bint.”

“My, my Ron, such language! Whatever would your mother think! Not that it matters much, I suppose. However I am quite sane, I assure you. The last is true, technically, although I am quite surprised by your understanding of Arabic. I'll ask one more time, Ron. Right handed or left?” Hermione asked, still as the stone floor she was sitting on.

“You think you're so safe, don't you? Voldemort's pampered little princess. You make me sick.”

“There you go, Ron!” Hermione cheered. “Didn't I tell you? You have nothing to fear from using his name. Now, let me remind you what this pampered little princess is capable of.” Transferring her wand to her right hand, she smiled at him, eyes like ice. “Children were hurt, yesterday, Ron. A precious little girl and her teacher were killed. Who is responsible for that? Your cowardly Light. Innocent children, whose only care in the world should be receiving an education were terrorized while they played. Someone they trusted to keep them safe was literally blown apart in front of their eyes, their only crime instructing helpless children. And I make you sick? So be it. Iacerent.” As Ron began to violently expel what little he had in his stomach, Hermione gazed at him, fury in her eyes. The wizard heaved, blood and bile the only things his stomach had to expel, curling into a ball on the floor. Five minutes passed before Hermione cast the counter curse. 

“My thoughts exactly. Now, onto something a little more pleasant. Where did we leave off last time? Oh yes, our third year. Now you had already denounced our friendship over poor Crooks and his unerring sense of character, but then Harry decided to stop talking to me because of that silly broomstick. Honestly, such a trivial thing to end a friendship over. As I suddenly had so much time on my hands, I decided to get a little more use out of my Time Turner. Every night I would go to the library. Once there, I would hide in the Restricted Section and turn back the whole day."

Hermione sighed, playing with the pebbles that littered the stone floor. "It was wonderful to spend nine glorious, uninterrupted hours reading everything that couldn't scream or hex me. You wouldn't believe the information that was hidden in those books! In a school library, accessible to any child in possession of a simple, easily forged pass. I must say, Severus was correct, the Dark Arts are very seductive. I told myself I was only reading those books to learn more about the evil we would be facing. I would have to practice those spells to becoming truly Dark. Soon enough however, I was turning back multiple times a night, slipping off to the Room of Requirement to practice the spells I was reading about, telling myself that I would have a better understanding of how to defend against these things if I knew how it felt to cast them. Most of the spells failed, honestly, but do you know what I learned, in between the Dark hexes and evil brews? Magic is all about intent. I could just as easily kill someone with a bit of cleverness with a Wingardium Leviosa and a boulder, had I the inclination. Now obviously I learned quite a bit about myself that year, also, and the things I was willing to do to keep my estranged friends safe. It wasn't healthy, though, living each day two or three, sometimes even four times over. Looking back, it was quite a good thing you two saw the light when you did. You know the rest of the story. Our friendship was restored, and Buckbeak was saved, the three teenage heroes riding off into the sunset. Such a tidy ending. Odd though, isn't it, that we could so handily go back and save an overgrown chicken because we 'had already done so’, but the same logic couldn't be applied to proving Sirius’ innocence? Have you had any time to wonder about that, Ronniekins?” Hermione asked, looking up for the first time since beginning her tale. 

Ron was staring at her, horrified. “You did all that? In our third year? We were only 13!”

“You were 13, Ronald, I was already 14 by January when all this occurred. Due to my capricious use of the Time Turner, I ended the year much closer to 15 than anyone intended. Why do you think I had matured so much by the next year's Yule Ball that Viktor, a 17 year old wizard, would desire to invite 15 year old me? Although we did have some rather interesting conversations about the curriculum at Durmstrang during the hours we spent in the library, which I'm sure appealed to him as well. But that is a story for another day!” Hermione stood, brushing the dirt from her hands. “As much as I love reminiscing with you, it's time to get down to business. I have a dinner party tonight, and I don't want to be late. You know what I want, Ron. Tell me where Neville is holed up.”

“Never!” Ron spat, struggling to rise from the puddle of bodily fluids he had been lying in. “I hope they burn your precious school to the ground, trapping all those evil brats inside.”

“Oh Ron,” Hermione sighed, shaking her head. “I was so hoping you would say that.”

Closing her eyes and calming her mind, Hermione’s face cleared. She took all her rage, her hatred, her grief, and channeled it towards her Magic; feeding it the overabundance of emotion she had always been accused of possessing. As it grew inside her, Hermione could sense it’s approval at being allowed out to play. Opening her her eyes, she looked at Ron, eyes devoid of all emotion. Raising her wand, she allowed a smile to slip though as Ron's screams filled the chamber.


	5. Release

Waving farewell to one of his best mates, Blaise sat back at his desk as Draco shut the door behind him. He still felt a little shocked, as he say there, idly shuffling paperwork around. Glancing around his stone walled office, he let his thoughts wander. Pretannike was something all of Wizarding Britain was proud of, a place where magical children could learn and grow, not to mention get used to the idea of being away from home for months at a time before being whisked off to Hogwarts. There had been some grumbling when the muggleborn initiative had first taken effect, but it had mostly passed, thanks to the children themselves. They were so pure, so carefree, they brought joy to all those around them. Pretannike had a waiting list now, wizarding families anxious to give their children every opportunity that was offered.

He continued his musings, his thoughts wandering to his current responsibilities. If someone had told him 3 years ago if he would be in charge of the high value prisoners imprisoned under the Dark Lord's reign, he would've laughed in their face. He had always envisioned himself spending his adult years wasting the fortunes his black widow of a mother had accumulated in the sun of some seaside Villa. He had no real ambition, no goals. He had done well enough in school, but also couldn't be arsed to really apply himself. Professors frequently told him he wasn't performing to potential, but Blaise had more important things to worry about. One couldn't become a boy toy casanova without first applying themselves diligently to learning the trade. He spent his fifth and sixth years working his way through the lower floors of the castle, which seemed to give the impression he had been neutral in the growing conflict. In reality, the only reason he hadn't been Marked along with Draco was because he didn't have a father to fuck things up and pave the way. His own mother had stubbornly refused to get involved, due in part to her less than discerning tastes in husbands. She would've been eaten alive among the Dark Lord’s loyal, and as such was now tucked safely away with some Count in Belarus. Blasie worked hard to prove himself to the Dark Lord, and had been richly rewarded. Glancing once more around his office, Blaise snorted at his introspective thoughts. Suddenly, he felt a wave of magic wash over the room. Watching the lights flicker slightly, he paused to discern if there was a problem. When nothing else happened, he returned to his paperwork, signing some death certificates before spelling them off to the Ministry. 

Rubbing away a twinge in his neck, he cast a Tempus, sighing when he saw the time. Deciding to take a break before tackling the rest of his paperwork, he Warded his desk and left his office. After making small talk with the guards in the main cell block, he had an idea of where the surge of magic had originated. Wishing the burly wizards a good weekend, he began to make his way to the high value cells. As he approached the thick door, he stopped as he heard screaming. That was usually not a sound that would give him pause, especially in those cells, but something seemed off. Making his way cautiously to the door, he removed his wand from it's holster. Easing the door open, he was shocked by what he saw. Hermione was standing in the middle of the circular room, tears streaming down her face, the air thick with magic. Her t-shirt was torn, and her face was contorted in a visage of sheer rage. Ron Weasley was lying motionless on the floor on his cell, and the screams he had heard were coming from the crying witch. 

“They were just CHILDREN! INNOCENT CHILDREN!” She cast another spell at the unconscious wizard, his body shuddering violently on the floor. She let out another primal scream, a sound of such pain and agony that Blaise could physically feel it. 

“Children who have no place in your war. It's not their fault! They should've been studying for tests and fighting over the stool that isn't wobbly. Not fearing for their lives!” Another spell rushed out of her wand, this time splintering and hitting several prisoners. The additional cries of pain did nothing to stop Hermione's rage. 

“Children should be allowed to feel safe! Not wondering if this is the year they will be killed. Not forced to lie to their parents for years, destroying their trust. But you wouldn't know about that, would you, wittle Ronniekins? Your precious parents were always the first ones called, the first ones to know. Who cared about Hermione’s parents? Every summer I returned to them, haunted by nightmares they couldn't soothe, battling wounds I couldn't let them see. Year after year I withdrew from them, affecting an air of normalcy that couldn't last. They were always there for me, taking me on trips to try and bring that spark back into my eyes. What little comfort I gained from their presence was ripped from me. Do you remember that, Ronald? What have you sacrificed for the Greater Good? I erased MY PARENTS!” 

Raising her wand again, her arm faltered for just a moment. Blaise could feel the change in the air, and the darkness it promised frightened him. Acting before his brain could fully comprehend his plan, he ran across the room and wrapped his arms around the petite witch. Spitting in rage, she lashed out, her hand making contact with his nose. Curling her fingers, she clawed at his face, letting loose another heartbreaking wail. Blaise kept his arms tight around her, and for one terrifying second felt the air in his lungs leave him at the sheer amount of power pressing down on him from the very air in the room. Suddenly the witch in his arms went limp, as her rage gave way to sobs. Sliding to the floor ungracefully, he pulled her into his arms, hands soothing her wild hair. 

“Shh, shh. It's ok. You're safe now. You're in charge here,” Blaise murmured, feeling her shake in his arms. He didn't know how long they sat there, the witch sobbing as Blaise hummed lullabies he remembered from his days in the nursery. Gradually the oppressive feeling in the air lessened, and he could hear the usual cries and moans filling the air. Leaning back, he put his hands on Hermione's shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Her face was red and tear stained, and she had a small cut on her left cheek. Wanting to cast a healing spell, he raised his wand, but before he could cast it, he watched it seal closed. 

“Thank you,” Hermione whispered, her voice raspy. “It all just hit me at once. Those children who were attacked yesterday had nothing to do with this fight. They were innocent, playing during a break from lessons. They watched as the people they trusted to keep them safe were literally blown apart. Why do they keep doing this? Why do they keep using children to fight their wars for them? Cowards!” She cried, her voice breaking.

Blaise stood slowly, helping the witch to her feet. Glancing in at the still wizard, he thought on her words.

“When adults wage war, children perish,” he said, looking down at the witch below him.

Looking surprised, a faint smile touched Hermione’s lips. “Do you know who said that? Elie Wiesel was a Jewish muggle who survived their war that was raging while we were doing battle with Grindelwald. Over fifteen million innocent people died due to the beliefs of a few hundred. Hitler killed children for his belief in his cause, for his desire for a perfect world. I refuse to stand by and allow others to do the same.” Wiping her hand across her face, she let out a ragged breath. “Please make sure I didn't kill him. He's going to tell us everything he knows.”

As Blaise let himself into the cell and began to cast diagnostic spells, he was shocked to see the damage Hermione had caused. Weasley usually needed tending to after her visits, but never to this extent. Looking up at the witch who was now plaiting her hair with shaking hands, he thought back on the scene he had witnessed when he entered the room. He had been as surprised as anyone when she had unmasked herself that night, but now he had a better understanding as to her motives. He couldn't imagine the childhood she had endured, facing death at every turn with nothing but a few whispered words of encouragement from those adults around her. Was it any wonder she turned her immense power against them? Ensuring that the wizard lying on the floor would live to spill his secrets, Blaise left the cell, locking the door with a wave of his wand. Holding his arm out to the witch in front of him, they began the trek back up to the Manor proper. 

When they reached the heavy door that hid the horrors below from the domestic normalcy above, she turned to him, eyes burning with passion. “I'll see them all destroyed before they bring another child into this war.”

Suppressing a shudder at the magic that crackled around them, honoring her blood oath, Blaise pushed open the door. Taking a moment to adjust to the early evening light that was streaming in through the tall windows, he pulled her back into his arms. Embracing her like the sister he never had, he replied. “As you command it, so mote it be.”

Traveling quietly back through the halls of the Manor, Hermione felt her rage still swirling uncontrolled inside her. She looked up at the dark skinned wizard walking beside her, and felt grateful that he had stopped her before she had gone too far. Ron wasn't the one she wanted dead. Ron had been lying in his cell as those children were attacked, and while he still held information that they needed to end these skirmishes, her rage was truly directed at Neville Longbottom. The forgetful friendless wizard who was the Light's new champion, who ordered raids on shopkeepers and demanded the blood of children. Who would've thought shy little Neville was capable of such cruelty? Hermione knew better than most the injustices that could be rationalized away for the sake of the Greater Good. Wasn't she commanded in the dark of night to orphan herself, the necessary spells taught to her in whispers in the quiet libraries of musty safe houses. Even knowing that, she never would've imagined them capable of this. Nearing the entry parlor, she swept her rage to a quiet corner of her mind, attempting to lock it down tightly until the time would come that she could unleash it on it's true target. 

Blaise watched her as they walked, her mind obviously still troubled by what he had walked into in the dungeon. He let his eyes wash over her, taking in the muggle clothing she now wore only for her weekly visits with Weasley. He wondered idly if the clothes could be likened to their theatrical Death Eater masks, not that they bothered with those any longer. They seemed to take her to a different space, one where schoolgirl memories swirled with an incandescent rage to form a potent snowglobe of destruction. She was never more in tune with her darkness than when she was reminded of what she had endured. The only one of them who could inspire her to greater heights than Voldemort was Luna. The effervencest witch was Hermione’s favorite dueling partner, and the creativity they displayed pleased the Dark Lord to no end. Of course Draco had claimed the willowy blonde, lucky bastard had been betrothed from her birth, and Hermione was quite firmly out of his league, but that didn’t mean that Blaise had any less opportunity to practise his playboy ways. Smiling to himself as he began to reminisce about his evening with the eager to please Ms. Brown, he was startled when Hermione suddenly pulled him to a stop, looking up at him, a host of emotions playing out across her face. He had just enough time to register that they were standing at the threshold of the parlor before she tucked herself back into the tall wizards arms. 

“Thank you for bringing me back,” she whispered, leaning her head on his chest. 

Nodding in acknowledgement, Blaise kissed the top of her head. “Anytime, bookworm.”

As they walked into the entry parlor, Hermione struggled to contain the magic that still swirled inside her. It was causing her emotions to swing wildly, burning with rage one moment, wanting to be held the next. It was maddening. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it, throwing her arm out as she felt suddenly light headed. Blaise took her extended arm gently, concern evident on his face.

‘Hermione?” He asked, his voice sounding far away. “Are you alright?”

Her head clearing, Hermione extricated her arm from his and nodded. “Just got a little light-headed. I think my magic is still a little unsettled from earlier. I will just Floo home, I think.”

Reaching for the ornate urn on the immense fireplace, Blaise offered it to her, doubt filling his features. “Are you sure you’re alright? I don’t think this is normal.”

“I may have overdid it a bit, but I’ll be ok once I get home,” she said, begging to lose her patience at his coddling.

“I can Side-Along you if you like, I am not needed back downstairs,” Blaise offered, withdrawing the urn he had offered before she was able to take any of the powder out.

“I’m fine, Blaise,” Hermione snapped, suddenly exhausted. “Perfectly fine. I’ll just take a nap before dinner.” Stretching her arm out, she dipped her hand into the urn, spilling some on the carpet as she closed her fist.

“Well I certainly didn’t mean to offend, your highness,” Blaise retorted, his face angry. “Forgive my concern, considering you almost fainted earlier. I’ll just leave you to it.” Gesturing to the fireplace, Blaise replaced the urn with a bit more force than necessary and took a step away from her.

Glaring at him, Hermione stepped up to the fireplace. Throwing the powder in the flame, she couldn’t resist the urge to have the last word. Over her shoulder, she sung out “Better scurry back to your stoney pit, Zabini. Who knows what may happen with all those big bad wandless wizards down there? Thank Merlin they have you there to keep them in line!”

With that she threw the powder in the flames, calling out her destination in a clear voice. “Nathair Manor!” As the flames began to spin, her head did too, and her vision started to blur around the edges. 

“Granger!” She heard Blaise call out, just as she was sucked into the emerald vortex.


	6. Apertifs

Stumbling into the foyer at Nathair Manor, Hermione shook her head again to clear the buzzing. As she took a shallow breath through her nose, she looked around the room she found herself in. It paled in comparison to to the almost oppressive grandeur of Malfoy Manor,but it was impressive when one thought of the disarray Riddle Manor had been when the Dark Lord took occupancy. The furniture had been the only thing left untouched in the public areas of the immense country estate, the antique furniture being deemed grand enough for company. All of the oppressive wood walls had been painted in lighter hues, floral wallpaper and tapestries depicting bloody battles even decorating a few rooms. As she began to make her way out of the room, she called for Jilly.

“Good evening Missy 'Mione,” the elf singsonged, her eyes wide in her little face. “Is you being ready to dress for your dinner? The elves have been putting in much hard work to prepare a grand dinner for all of Missy and the Dark Lord's friends. Pipsy makes some new tarts just for yous, but they is to be a secret.”

Stifling a giggle at the elf's change in clothes, although the 70s style mod dress did seem to oddly suit her, Hermione smiled down at her, head still swimming. “Please tell Pipsy I cannot wait to try them. I will be visiting the Dark Lord before dinner, but please have my pink gown laid out for me. Are you willing to attempt an updo for me tonight? My magic isn't quite up to the task.”

Jilly nodded excitedly, a look of joy on her face. “You will be the most beautiful, Missy 'Mione. Call Jilly when yous is ready to get dressed.”

The elf popped out of sight as Hermione began to slowly make her way to stairs. Reaching the landing, she paused, hearing conversation tinkling out of the formal lounge. Walking over to the door, she peeked in at the crowd assembled. Bellatrix and Alecto were talking in low tones near the door, Hermione wincing as she heard Bella’s trademark cackle. Theo sat near Daphne on a low couch, whispering in her ear as her face took on a devilish look, lust obvious in her eyes even from across the room. As her eyes moved deeper into the room, she skimmed over Antonin, Roldolphus, and Rabastan clustered near the large window, seemingly plotting some nefarious plot. She smirked slightly, thinking to herself that they were more than likely just discussing last week’s Quidditch final, as Bulgaria won the match. Her smile grew into something real when she saw Voldemort, dressed in his evening robes, sitting in his large chair by the fire. Ginny knelt at his feet, dressed in a thin robe. Baring her teeth momentarily when she felt Hermione’s eyes on her, her head jerked back as Voldemort tugged on the chain that was looped loosely around her neck. Voldemort gazed at Hermione, his red eyes impassive. In that moment, the darkness that was still rumbling inside her rose, her head lightening again. Voldemort lifted an eyebrow, a territorial look coming across his face. Shaking her head at him, she continued to survey the room. Just as her eyes made their way to the back of the room, she jumped slightly as she saw Severus staring at her, an amused glint in his eyes. Their eyes meeting, he lifted his hand, crooked one of his long fingers, and patted the seat next to her.

Laughing at being caught out, and feeling the the darkness leave her face, she allowed him to beckon her into the library. Hissing at Alecto as she passed, she smiled warily at Bella. Making her way across the room, she waved in greeting to Draco, who was standing with his mother and talking to a thin witch with long white blonde hair. Draco leaned forward to whisper in her ear, and Luna turned around and gave Hermione a friendly wave before continuing her conversation with Narcissa. Nodding in acknowledgement to Theo and Daphne, she began to make her way to where Severus was seated. Pausing before Voldemort, she bowed her head in greeting. He reached out to caress her chin, but Hermione wanted to keep what happened in the depths of Malfoy Manor a secret a little longer. Bending her knee slightly, she stepped just out of his grasp. Stiffening as she felt the less than gentle nudge of the Dark Lord in her mind, she closed her eyes and felt herself begin to sway again. Long fingers grasped her upper arm, steadying her. Opening her eyes and seeing the tall wizard standing before the fire, a cut crystal glass of goblin whiskey in his other hand, she suddenly brightened. 

“Lucius!” She cried, embracing the wizard who had assumed the role of father figure in her life. 'Narcissa said you wouldn't be joining us this evening!

“Luckily for me, some swotty little witch had organized all my relevant notes which allowed me to end the meeting much more quickly than anticipated,” Lucius smiled down at her as he wrapped his arms around her. “Now what in Merlin's name are you wearing? Have I activated a Time Turner I wasn't aware of?”

Rolling her eyes at the Malfoy's incessant desire to comment on her attire, she turned to the low table next to him and poured herself a healthy dose of firewhiskey before taking a drink. “Visiting hours again. Before you ask, nothing of use, but I feel much better for it.”

Entering the room just in time to overhear the exchange, Blaise made eye contact with the Minister over her head and shook his head slightly before heading over to Marcus. The older wizard inclined his head and wisely changed the subject. 

“Our Lord tells us you have made some new discoveries regarding spell casting?” he asked, taking a sip of his own whiskey.

Glancing over at Voldemort and blushing scarlet, she nodded. “Yes I have. I have only just begun to test the implications, but it is fascinating in theory. I won’t bore everyone here with the details,” she said, glaring at Bellatrix as she raised her glass in appreciation, “but I have promised to keep My Lord appraised of my progress. I am sure he will share any news as he deems it appropriate.” Taking a sip of her fire whiskey, she risked a glance back at Voldemort, shrinking slightly at the heat still present in his eyes at her refusal to submit to his probing.

“What made you decide to study something like that?” Alecto drawled, her voice grating on Hermione’s already thin nerves. “I know if I was given a week off from burying my nose in musty books I wouldn’t be spending it with more books. I would find something much more physical to do.” 

As several of those in the room laughed, Alecto looking at Antonin with heat in her eyes, Hermione scowled. Before she could respond, however, Voldemort cleared his throat.  
“Lutea doesn’t spread her legs for any wizard willing to pause long enough to be of use, Alecto. She has a purpose in our world, and she is clever enough to remember that,” he purred, his hand caressing Ginny’s bare neck. “While I adore the fiery passion you bring to the battlefield, and the bedroom, you are all aware Lutea is being saved for a special role.”

Looking torn between being complimented and offended, Alecto chose the former. Smiling at the Dark Lord, she spoke. “We all have our strengths, My Lord, and I am happy to be of use to you, however you see fit.” 

Watching Alecto simper at Voldemort, Hermione snorted and took another drink of her whiskey. She made to walk across to Draco, but felt a tug on her magic. Glancing behind her, she watched Voldemort indicate the rug next to his chair. Stifling a sigh, she took a few steps back and assumed her usual place standing slightly behind the Dark Lord. She allowed the conversation in the room to wash over her, knowing that she was at least safe from the threat of any more inane conversation. A short time later, she was surprised to see Bellatrix sliding up to her, a mischievous smile on her face. 

“Good evening, little Mudblood,” she began, Hermione cringing away from the rotted teeth that had haunted her dreams on more than one occasion. “You have been avoiding me.”

“I have done nothing of the sort, Bella. My Lord gave me a week of reprieve from my usual duties and and I have been enjoying it. I apologize if I have offended you.”

The other witch cackled, the hair on Hermione’s neck standing up. “You aren't sorry at all, and we both know it. My offer still stands, if you find yourself in need of a diversion.”

Inclining her head and smiling at the unbalanced witch, Hermione thought back to their last conversation. Much to her chagrin, all of the Dark Lord's followers knew that Hermione’s virgin state was coveted by Voldemort. As a healthy 23 year old witch, she had often been frustrated by her inability to have an outlet through which to blow off the steam that invariably built up in her young body. Forced to endure Revels and observe others partake in the activities denied to her had caused her to spent more than a few nights in ice cold showers, unable to recreate those feelings for herself. When the Dark Lord's incessant rummaging about in her head led him to discover the cause of her frustration, he offered her the witch’s considerable expertise. With her ever present desire to please her Lord, Bellatrix had leapt on the chance to be of service, the volatile chemistry between the two witches promising a new world of pleasure. Hermione was not as eager, her distrust of the dark haired witch winning out over the lure of relief from her near constant torment. She had managed to hold the witch off thus far, but she knew her resolve was weakening. At that moment, the doorway to the lounge darkened as the source of her current discomfort entered. 

Thorfinn Rowle was a broad wizard, with a body Hermione frequently likened to a muggle Rugby player. His frame made one wonder how he managed to enter a room dead on, as his sheer physicality made it seem improbable. He wore his blonde hair long, the soft strands framing his face and kissing his shoulders. He looked a true Viking, his Nordic ancestry too clearly displayed to be denied. His square jaw and intimidating build made his nature all the more surprising, as Hermione knew him to be a gentle man, saving his impressive skill set for those who angered him. He was only a few years older than she, but all she knew of his school days were the few occasions she had seen him on the Quidditch pitch, playing Beater for Slytherin. He had never seemed particularly studious, having spent time in the library only during exam season, but she had heard Draco talk about his intelligence. They had struck up a casual friendship after he saved her from a cutting curse, taking it himself before killing the wizard who had sent it her way. His pale eyes lit up when he saw Hermione, but as he began to make his way across the room to her, Voldemort reached for her hand. Tugging her down, he settled her on his lap. Taking the hint, Thorfinn allowed himself to be drawn in by the trio under the windows, their raised voices validating Hermione’s earlier hypothesis. Pressing her lips together to avoid sighing, she relaxed into Voldemort's absent-minded petting as he spoke with Lucius. 

“The Centaurs have decided who will hold their Wizangamot seat,” the Malfoy head began quietly, taking a sip of his whiskey. “An elder named Clodion will assume the role. He is quite formidable, and I am invigorated to think of the change he will bring to that august body.”

“What do the people think of this change in policy, Lucius,” Voldemort hissed softly, tangling his fingers in Hermione’s wild hair. Hermione whimpered slightly as he ripped through more than one snarl, clearly still upset with her.

“The news has already begun to be whispered about in the streets, and the general consensus is quite promising, most believing that the Centaurs would not be so quick to align themselves if we as evil as is rumored. This is the beginning of a new day in the Wizarding world,” Lucius said simply, pride evident on his face. 

As the wizards continued to talk politics and the hair trigger of public opinion, Hermione let her gaze fall on the burly wizard across the room. Watching him as he gestured wildly, emphasizing some argument, she began to feel a heat creep into her cheeks as she imagined those hands on her body. Feeling lips next to her ear, she forced herself not to react, although she had been taken quite off guard. 

“Does the ickle Mudblood have a crush on the big bad Death Eater?” Bella whispered, her breath ghosting across Hermione’s small ear. “How interesting. He's a Pureblood heir in his own right, Hermione, I wonder if you aren't aiming too high?”

Pulling away from the witch’s cloying embrace, Hermione looked at her with a guarded expression, careful not to give her true feelings away. 

“I am not allowed an opinion on the subject, Bella, you know that. Although one would need to be blind to be immune to his particular brand of charm.” Chancing a smile at the buxom witch, Hermione continued, a devilish look in her eye. “With hands like those…”

“I've watched him strangle a man and not even break a sweat,” Bellatrix murmured, enjoying the heat that crept up the petite witch’s neck. “He had him pinned to the floor beneath him, his strong legs like stone. The man put up a fierce struggle, but Rowle was immoveable. He pressed his hips to the man and broke his ribs. As the man cried out, he wrapped one of his hands around his neck and squeezed, as if testing the fit. When he choked, he loosened his grip, allowing him to catch a single breath. He allowed the man one last chance to beg for his life, then he brought his other hand to join the first and brought his full might into the effort. He was dead in minutes.” Bellatrix leaned back, pleased to see that Hermione’s eyes were glassy, her lips parted slightly as she panted softly. 

Voldemort glanced at the witch sitting in his lap, amusement filling his serpentine features as she rocked slightly. “What is thisss,” he hissed softly, his voice taking on a teasing tone. “Lutea, are you quite well?”

Swallowing in a failed attempt to bring some moisture back into her mouth, Hermione spoke. “Q-quite fine, my Lord,” she rasped, damnning Bellatrix to the depths of the Great Lake for the quiver in her voice and fire in her lower stomach. “Bella was just telling me a story.”

“It seems to have been most diverting, Lutea,” he purred, noting with interest as she attempted to adjust her position in his lap. 

“I was simply reminiscing on Thorfinn’s brute strength, My Lord,” Bellatrix grinned, groaning as Hermione’s elbow made contact with the stuff boning of her corset. “Hermione was admiring his hands, and I was reminded of what I have witnessed them accomplish,” she finished, moving out of range of the small witch’s unreasonably sharp elbow.

“Well that is interesting,” Voldemort stated simply, taking a drink of his own brandy. Nudging Hermione off his lap, he gestured in Severus’ direction, releasing her.

Hermione made her way over to the dark haired wizard who was seated alone, as was his habit. Severus moved over to allow her to flop ungracefully on the couch and raised a single eyebrow. 

“I take it the Weasley boy was less than forthcoming?” He drawled, his low baritone honeyed by the elf wine in his hand.

“I didn't really give him the chance, I'm afraid. Draco informed me about the attack as we were making our way to the cells and it affected me more than I realized. I almost killed him, Severus.” As he looked down at her in alarm, she explained. “He looked me in the eye and said that he hoped the Order destroyed Pretennike and all those innocent children burned inside it. Thank Merlin for Blaise. If he hadn't come down when he did I think I would've killed them all,” Hermione sighed, a troubled look on her face. 

“I told that arrogant whelp to wait until dinner. I knew that information would make you more volatile. What happened?” Severus asked, an uncharacteristically soft look on his severe features.

Looking across the room to where Blaise was laughing with Theo, Hermione spoke so quietly he had to lean closer to hear her.

“My magic went wild,” she began, Severus looking at her in shock. “When he spoke so casually of the death of children, it reminded me of all the years I spent as a tool in a grand scheme I had no business being a part of. Every year facing the threat of death with little more than cryptic clues and the information I could find in a book. Being forced to grow up long before I was ready, placing my trust in adults who were too afraid to do what needed to be done. Helplessly watching my friends die, being groomed to kill…” Hermione trailed off, tears coming to her eyes again. She took another sip of her firewhiskey, calming her emotions. “It was like nothing I had ever experienced before. I could feel the darkness in the air, my spells manifesting almost before I could give them words.” Hermione stopped, close to tears. The dark wizard leaned into her, his arm slipping over her shoulders as his lank hair fell down to shield his face. They sat in silence for a moment, both parties ordering their thoughts. When it seemed she was in control of herself again, Snape spoke. 

“You have always been a most extraordinary witch, Ms. Granger. Not only for your intellect and raw power, but for your capacity for empathy. I could see it even when you were a child, pushed aside again and again by immature fools who thought only of themselves and their pain. When you were belittled by arrogant professors and placed on pedestals by others. It is no surprise that your magic was so responsive to your pain,” he said, taking another drink of his wine. “Look around you. This is where you belong. Here, with those who won't teach you to fear your power, or encourage you to waste it in a musty library, but to hone it, enabling you to protect yourself and those you love. We are going to do great things, Hermione, and you will play a large role in that.”

Looking up at the taciturn wizard, Hermione laughed softly. “I seem to recall one Professor in particular who seemed to take great delight in belittling me,” she teased, a soft smile lingering on her face as she pushed his hair back, tucking it behind his ears. 

“He had a role to play in those grand schemes you alluded to, I'm afraid,” Severus intoned, sipping his wine. “A role which required him to walk a fine line between tearing down one of the most powerful witches he had ever seen and inspiring her to reach the fullest of her potential. I am proud to give you an Outstanding where that is concerned.”

Leaning into the stern wizard, Hermione sighed again, this time in contentment. She allowed the sounds of the room to wash over her as she finished her drink, mulling over the events of the day. Smiling as she watched the familiar faces clustered around the room, she found a feeling of peace, and simply sat in silence, enjoying her time with her former professor, the man who had proven himself time and again to be her unwavering champion.


	7. Frustration

Some time later, an ornate clock on the wall chimed, and Hermione blinked sleepily. Beside her, she heard a low rumbling laugh.

“Wake up, Ms. Granger. It's time for you to get ready for dinner,” Severus said, smiling down at the sleepy witch. 

“Oh!” She exclaimed softly, looking up to see the room had almost cleared. Lucius smiled at her dotingly from where he was now seated with Voldemort at his desk across the room, the pair looking over a letter. “I must've exhausted myself earlier.”

“If you magic went as wild as you think, I am surprised you made it back to join our impromptu party,” Severus commented, amused. “You still have plenty of time to dress for dinner, never fear.” Helping her up from the low couch, his eyes sparkled with an uncharacteristic amusement as she straightened her shirt. Seeing the look in his eyes, Hermione groaned. 

“Not one word, Severus, I mean it. Just because I find I prefer to wear robes these days doesn't mean I am inviting all and sundry to comment on my attire when I desire a change. You of all people should commiserate with me,” she said, bowing slightly to Voldemort, shivering at the anger still simmering in his cold features and nodding to Lucius before taking Severus’ arm to leave the room. 

Chuckling softly, Severus simply murmured “Touche, Ms. Granger.” 

They had all been pleasantly surprised to learn, after Harry's death had rendered void the last of his self-imposed mourning for the memory of his only childhood friend, that the greasy haired bat of the dungeons owned several items of clothing in a wide range of hues. It had taken several weeks, and more than a few hexes, before the gossip had died down. 

Walking down the hall and up the stairs, they spoke of Hogwarts’ upcoming graduation ceremony. After briefly discussing those soon-to-be graduates with the most promise and the security and logistics behind allowing the students at Pretennike to attend en masse after this latest attack, their conversation turned to teaching vacancies. Madam Hooch was retiring, and Severus was torn between Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint, both of whom had applied. A heated debate ensured, which quickly devolved into the age old rivalry any proud Slytherin would find themselves in when up against a roaring Gryffindor. Realizing they would find no common ground, Severus changed the subject to the recurring vacancy in the Dark Arts post.

Unfortunately for him, as Headmaster of Hogwarts, the curse that continued to afflict the position amused Voldemort greatly, and he refused to lift it. In true Slytherin fashion, Severus had managed to spin the situation to his advantage, and any wizard or witch who successfully completed a year in the post was sent off to a successful career with a glowing letter of recommendation and a near guarantee of employment in any number of powerful firms. While the situation was far from ideal under normal conditions, it was truly frustrating this year, when the teacher was one who was truly loved by all the students. Thinking of the last Dark Arts professor that had been as universally liked, he turned to the small witch beside him.

“Speaking of Dark Arts professors, Narcissa said something interesting while you were drooling on my cravat.”

Bumping him playfully with her shoulder, Hermione stopped as they reached her door, refusing to take his bait. 

“She said that Remus would be joining us for dinner, as your guest. Last I knew he was living with Greyback. How did he come to be enjoying your company?”

Hermione shrugged, twirling a curl the Dark Lord had freed from her hasty braid idly. “I completed the glass bone curse I had been working on the same day that Greyback displeased Our Lord. He was so pleased by my success he gifted him to me as a companion. It was simply a matter of killing two phoenixes with one stone I think. The whole experience has been most...titillating.” 

Snape stopped short, looking down at Hermione incredulously. “Titillating?” 

The dainty witch snorted as she saw the look on his face. “Not like that, Severus, don't be obtuse. Our Lord wouldn't stand for it. I shudder to think what he would do if he even thought that was happening. Besides, even if I had His permission, it's Lupin. He's old enough to be my father.” Mentally kicking herself as she saw his face cloud, she placed her small hand in the center of his chest, and pushed him against the wall of the hallway.

“You and Lupin may be the same age, but that is where your similarities end. He is so malleable, so soft, I fear I would break him,” she said, standing on tiptoes to whisper in his ear. 

“I can assure you, I think of our night together often, although I can never achieve the same results,” she purred, her teeth scraping his neck as her hand brushed his cock through his trousers. “Sadly, Pensieve memories can only get a witch so far. You’re welcome in my chambers anytime, Professor,” she continued, her voice thick with promise. “I think you will enjoy the new additions Our Lord has added to my toy box.”

Severus’ hand shot up and wrapped itself around Hermione's thin throat as he spun them quickly and pressed her against the wall. Applying just enough pressure to block her airway, he spoke, his words like steel. “You're playing with fire, Ms. Granger. My Lord does not repeat himself, and he has made it quite clear that his Lutea is off limits.” She looked magnificent as he watched her struggle to take a breath, her eyes burning with equal parts anger and lust. Groaning, he gave into his desire and kissed her. Their lips met violently, tongues battling for dominance as their teeth nipped at the other. As Hermione brought her hands up to tangle in Severus’ hair, the wizard stilled, his ragged panting echoing in the still hallway. He pressed his forehead to hers as he sighed.

“Why do you insist on antagonizing me? What deity did I piss off so greatly that you feel the need to rile me up whenever you are feeling neglected? You belong to the Dark Lord,” Severus growled, releasing his hold on Hermione and turning away from the wall to rejoin the others.

“Oh yes, that,” Hermione sneered. “What was it Ronald called me? It was quite clever. Oh yes. ‘Voldemort's pampered little princess.’ Where does that leave me, hmm? I might belong to the Dark Lord, Severus, but I'm certainly not a simpering princess he can lock away in a tall tower with only a werewolf for company. Between the Ministry and his minions, he's always so damned busy!” Hermione cried, stamping her foot in frustration. 

Severus watched her, raising a single eyebrow. Suddenly, he burst out laughing, the sound only further angering Hermione. Raising a hand to calm her fury, Severus spoke, amusement still evident in his tone. “Don't fuss. It has been so long since I’ve seen you in a temper, my mirth got the better of me. I would suggest speaking to the Dark Lord about your discomfort, without the melodramatic foot stamping, and leaving me out of it, if you please. It'll take a much more than that quick snog to allow me to thank you for the Crucio it would surely earn me. He will be happy to assist you, if you find his offer of Bellatrix so distasteful, and I am sure you won't be disappointed,” Severus drawled, a faraway look coming into his eyes. Seeing Hermione brighten, Severus continued before she could interrupt him. “No, you may not ask. I mean it, Hermione. Mind your business.”

Harrumphing under her breath, Hermione looked up at him. They had shared one glorious night together, on the eve of her Marking, as a way to distract herself from her nerves of what was to come. She had been firmly committed to the dark by that point, but the thought of killing someone she knew, even someone with as much destruction on their hands as Dean had waged by that point, had her worked into a state. Severus had come to her rooms, wisely perceiving her to be in need of a calming draught, when she had thrown herself into his arms. 

She had foolishly pleaded with him to intercede with the Dark Lord, wishing to prove her commitment by some other means, her begging turning to a dangerous rage when he calmly refused. She had launched whatever object she could get her hands on at him, ironically railing about his cowardice and fear of the Dark Lord. He had borne it all with his usual even-temper, going as far as to send the books she had sent careening at him back to the bookshelves she was standing in front of when she had run out of ammunition. When she realized that she was about to throw Ciferol’s Charms for Daily Use at him for the third time, some region of her brain dimly recognizing the text, she began to laugh. She continued laughing even as she had to cling to the oak bookcase for support, her fury falling away as quickly as it had risen. Seeing that her anger was spent, Severus made his way over to her, one hand still on his wand as though preparing himself for a sudden sneak attack. Her giggles had subsided by the time he reached her, and she wiped a tear from her eye as she looked up at him.

“What if I can't do it?” She asked him in a quiet voice, speaking her true fears aloud for the first time. 

“The Dark Lord wouldn't have asked it of you if he didn't believe you capable, Ms. Granger,” the tall wizard said simply, arching an eyebrow at the doubt on her face. “You needn't get creative if you prefer it to be over quickly. Most don't. Some foolish wand waving, a simple Avada, and it's all over.”

Smiling weakly at his words, Hermione toyed with the paisley shelf paper on her bookcase, worrying with the slightly frayed edge.

“I want him to be pleased with me, Professor. Not to mention there are still so many who doubt me, who think I will shy away from what it takes to truly become one of you.” Sighing again, she slumped slightly. “No simple Avada will prove to them that I am committed,” she muttered, looking again at the ground.

“Silly girl,” he sighed, forcing her to look at him by wrapping his cold thin fingers around her neck, just below her chin. “Simply attending the ceremony at all will prove to them you are serious. Gossip has it you will attempt to flee long before dusk.”

Scoffing, Hermione closed her eyes. “I would have nowhere to go even if I desired to leave. The only Order members I had any way to contact are dead, and even if I could somehow find my way to wherever Neville is holed up, what would I say? ‘Yes I spent the last 4 months as an honored guest of You-Know-Who, and yes, you did see me on the front page of the Prophet several times, but it was all a simple misunderstanding. I'm back and ready to Stun our opponents into submission. Ignore the random surges of Dark Magic you may notice, I'm sure they'll disappear eventually.’ I'm sure that will go over as well as a Niffler in Parsons.”

“Parsons?” Severus asked, confusion evident in his tone. 

“Really? It's the oldest jewelry shop in Britain. Have you really never heard of it? Narcissa owns several of their pieces,” Hermione asked, before shaking her head. “Nevermind, not important. What if I can't kill Dean?”

“You can do that and more. I have seen what you are capable of when you allow yourself to fully embrace your potential. When you free yourself from your self-imposed ideals of right and wrong, the destruction you leave in your wake is truly... magnificent,” Snape said, an unfamiliar look on his face. 

“Tell me what you see,” Hermione breathed, caught off guard by his passion.

“What I see when I you give yourself over to your darkest parts?” Severus looked down at her darkly, a gleam coming into his eye. “When you channel your magic into it's more primal form, you become even more powerful. You lose your inhibitions, ignore the constraints that society has forced on you, and become almost incandescent with power. All those around you are affected. Have you never noticed how Bellatrix and Antonin always arrange themselves near you in battle? It's not to keep an eye on the unproven Mudblood. It's because they are attracted to your raw power. I expect that will begin to diminish as you continue to embrace it, but as it is currently you have quite a marked effect on those around you.”

“Are you similarly affected?” She asked, gazing up at him. 

“Undoubtedly,” he replied simply, the hand still on her throat tightening slightly. 

“Tell me,” she breathed, pulse racing at the slight difficulty she had when drawing in a breath. Her stomach clenched and blood began to flow to her core and he flexed his fingers, increasing the pressure minutely once again.

“Watching you hex those prisoners causes my blood to race. There is something so inherently seductive about the creativity the Brightest Witch of Her Age displays when she lets her true abilities shine. Seeing you so free, unconcerned by the judgement of those around you is exhilarating.” Taking a breath as though steeling himself, he continued, throwing caution to the wind. “The night you turned Wormtail inside out, I took 2 cold showers to no avail. Being forced to take matters into my own hand, I came so hard I saw colors that didn't even know existed. That is the effect you have on all of us, Ms. Granger. The fiery passion you display inspires us to meet heights we didn't think were possible, and watching you rain destruction on others fuels all of our darker urges.”

“What have you imagined doing?” Hermione asked, her head swimming, both at his words and the pressure on her throat.

Eyes blazing, he backed her against the bookcase, the uneven surface pressing into her lower back. His large hands spanned her lower ribs, his thumbs brushing over her breasts. At her needy moan, he trailed his hands lower, grasping her hips and pulling her flush against him. “I could tell you, Ms. Granger, or I could show you.”

Stifling another moan, Hermione looked up at him, need blazing in her eyes. “I’ve always had more success with a hands on approach,” she practically whispered, leaning forward to catch his lips in hers.

They had spent the next several hours exploring each other, the older wizard bringing her pleasure the likes of which she had never been able to recreate in herself. She had never discerned if Severus had more insight into the Dark Lord’s desires than she did, or if he had his own unknown agenda, but she remained virgo intacta when he slipped out of her rooms near midnight. Voldemort had been pleased with her creativity during her ceremony, casting an old curse she had found that turned Dean's blood acidic, killing him painfully slowly. Although she had given him full access to memories of the previous evening, as she always did, he never spoke of the time she had spent with Severus. Although he did not offer her a repeat of the evening, instead choosing to care for her needs himself.

Feeling a rush of sentiment and embracing the wizard, Hermione stifled a grin as she felt him tense up. No matter how hard she tried, Severus still grew uncomfortable at simple displays of affection simply for affections sake. Clinging to him a moment longer than was truly necessary in retribution for his rude remark about her drooling, she released him, turning to her door.

“Thank you for escorting me,” she said, looking up at him with what he referred to as her Pygmy Puff eyes. “I'm sorry for molesting you.”

Severus snorted, a wry grin breaking out across his face. “You are insufferable.”

“In these uncertain times, isn't it lovely that you can always count on me as constant?” She laughed, pushing open the door to her room.

Rolling his eyes and doing his best to appear extremely put upon, Severus nodded. “I am glad I always have you to count on, Ms. Granger.” Running his hand down the side of her face in farewell, he turned and strode back down the hallway, his slate grey robes billowing just enough to allow Hermione a peek at the emerald green silk lining. Laughing softly to herself again, she walked into her rooms to dress for dinner, calling for Jilly as she went.


	8. Dinner

Less than half an hour later, Hermione was on her way back down the grand staircase, her pale pink gown fluttering around her demurely heeled shoes as she walked. Her hair was once again tamed away from her face, and although Jilly had gone a little too Edwardian for Hermione’s tastes, she was pleased with the end result. She wore a single piece of jewelry, a simple necklace, an enchanted amethyst pendant on a goblin made chain that Voldemort had given her the night of her initiation. Her shoulders and arms were bare, her Dark Mark and scars on equal display. Padding softly beside her on all fours was Lupin, bare save for a short white robe and a heavy leather collar. Hermione held the matching leash loosely in her hand. 

“I can't believe you made poor Jilly clean up after you, Moony! I told you we would be taking a walk after dinner, couldn't you have waited?” She asked, smiling softly at the embarrassment on the man's face. “That won't get you out of your walk, I hope you know, I won't be woken up in the middle of the night again because you have to go out.”

Lupin hung his head, ashamed, as they made their way into the dining room, Hermione removing the slack from his lead. Looking around the formal dining room, painted green, of course, she took in the impressive sight that met her eyes. The green on these walls was a muted olive tone, overshadowed by the grand magical tapestries that hung from the walls. The Dark Lord had them commissioned to depict his rebirth and subsequent victory over Harry, and Hermione felt her lip twitch, as it always did, when she looked at the liberties the weaver had taken. Harry had been thin after their months on the run, they all were, but tapestry Harry looked more like a toddler than a young adult male. Voldemort appeared almost giant-like, which was ironic, given his opinion of the creatures. Ronald was a caricature of himself, although Hermione had to admit that the lanky, string bean quality he gave off wasn't too far from reality, especially after these last few months in the dungeons. She did secretly enjoy the way she was depicted, however. Her hair a flowing cascade of perfect ringlets, her embellished breasts heaving as she burst back into the ballroom, the Death Eaters she had broken free from standing in the doorway she had blown off its hinges with a wild burst of magic, demanding Voldemort spare Ron, bartering with her own allegiance. The last completed tapestry was Lucius' swearing in as Minister of Magic, Voldemort standing behind him, a still unrealistically buxom Hermione clapping wildly on his left, Narcissa and Draco clapping much more demurely on his right. She eyed the still blank expanse of wall that remained. She wasn't sure what the Dark Lord had planned, but she had a sinking feeling she and her ridiculous proportions would be featured prominently. 

The long dark table was laid with an ivory cloth, the crystal goblets glinting as the assembled witches and wizards sipped their elf-made wine, as dark as blood. The low floral centerpieces were full of peonies and ivy, and she could just barely make out their scent over the various other perfumes in the room. Glancing briefly at the assembled party, she frowned for just a moment before rearranging her features in a more pleasant way as she saw that Regulus was indeed present, sitting in between Severus and Alecto. She disliked the wizard simply on principal, his actions during what was known as the first Wizarding War always leaving a foul taste in her mouth. He had allowed his family to believe him dead, commanding Kreacher to never disclose the truth of what happened that night in the cave, the switching if the Horcruxes simply being a long con to ensure the safety of the locket while he was working for Voldemort in the depths of Africa. 

It hadn't worked, of course, as a result of Kreacher’s tenuous bond to Harry, but the trouble they had faced surviving on the run with the locket, as well as the events following its destruction, had soured her opinion of him long before they ever met. His casual reappearance, almost a full year after Harry's death had always seemed to her a bit suspicious, even if she herself was the direct beneficiary of his studies. He had Voldemort's full confidence, which rendered her doubts moot, but a witch couldn't help the way she felt. The fact that he was close with Alecto didn't help either, Hermione's dislike of the witch surpassing even the more casual distaste she now felt towards Bellatrix. Making her way to her usual seat at the head of the table on Voldemort’s left, she was cautiously pleased to see Thorfinn seated to her left. 

“Good evening, My Lord,” she said, kissing his cheek as the men at the table stood, Rowle sliding out her chair for her. “I hope I haven't kept you waiting long.”

“You are always worth the wait, Lutea, especially when you look as charming as you do tonight. If I had known how delectable you would look leading a man by the collar I would've given you a pet ages ago,” Voldemort replied, the charm of his words clearly for the benefit of his assembled followers, as the sentiment didn't quite meet his eyes.

Bowing her head in a supplicant's pose, Hermione murmured, “I required more assistance dressing than usual tonight, My Lord. It was not meant as a personal insult.”

Looking only mildly interested in her reply, Voldemort eyed her up and down. “It seems not to have been a waste.” 

Hermione looked up at him, hurt at his casual dismissal of both her appearance and apology, and he waved her to her seat. She took her seat somewhat shakily, knowing him still to be displeased with her, but grateful that he had kept their exchange private, so that her disobedience didn't become public knowledge. She knew that was for his benefit, not hers, but she still appreciated it.

Smiling thinly at Thorfinn as he pushed her chair back to the table, she turned to Voldemort. Raising her voice to level which could be heard by all present, she inclined her head toward the Dark Lord.

“I really must thank you again for the gift, My Lord, it has been quite a diverting experience. I find I will miss him dearly when he is returned to the pack.”

As Lupin’s eyes shot to her, taking on a yellow hue as fear etched in his features, Antonin spoke from his place slightly further down the table.

“Returned to the pack, Ms. Granger? I was under the impression that you were quite pleased with Our Lord's gift,” he said, toying with his wine glass.

Eyes flashing at the less than subtle attempt to undermine her, Hermione addressed the room as a whole, refusing to let him ruffle her feathers.

“My Lord is well aware how pleased I am with his gift, Dolohov, never fear. Unfortunately, while training him to fill the role that Crookshanks held for me has been quite amusing, I find I enjoy my solitude. If in the future I a require another pet, it will most likely be an owl. They don't need near as much attention, and they are much tidier to clean up after too,” Hermione said, tinkling out a laugh as Lupin tried to crawl under the table. Yanking harshly on his lead to keep him in sight, she continued. “I am simply much too busy normally to care for another creature, it's only because of my week of leisure that I have had any chance to be able to train him. Besides, My Lord still has little Ginerva on a tight leash. What would people think of us, two powerful wizards keeping humans as pets, all alone in this grand estate? It's obscene to think of the things people could come up with.”

As those gathered laughed, Hermione looked down at Ginny, seated on a crimson pillow behind the Dark Lord’s chair. Waving at her, she joined in the laughter as Ginny hissed at her.

Settling into her seat as the first course appeared, she focused her attention on Thorfinn, who was waiting for her to begin eating before starting on his own plate. As much as Hermione had dreaded the etiquette lessons she had been forced to endure with Narcissa, there were certainly elements of Pureblood manners that she found charming.

“Thorfinn, I really must thank you for your present at Yule. I have been enjoying it thoroughly,” she said, lifting her fork to take a bite of her salad.

“Ms. Granger, how many times must I ask you to call me Finn?” he began, smiling as he took a bite of a tomato. “I also must insist you stop thanking me for that diary. Yule was months ago, and we have yet to have a single conversation that doesn't start with your gratitude. Everytime you bring it up it simply reminds me that I have yet to give you another gift. If I didn't know any better, I would think you were trying to shame me for my lax attentions.”

“My apologies, Finn, but I do truly enjoy the diary. It does make one wonder if you are always talented with giving those around you such repeated pleasure,” Hermione replied, hiding a smirk at the slight flush that appeared on his cheeks at her miserable attempt at flirting.

“If that is the case, I shall endeavor to give you many more gifts that bring you pleasure, Ms. Granger,” he murmured, a devilish look on his face.

“Call me Hermione, Finn,” she purred, leaning closer to the muscular wizard. “as I have been saying to you for weeks now. I look forward to seeing the many pleasurable gifts that you will give. Perhaps something handmade?”

Voldemort cleared his throat, causing Hermione to startle, the cucumber falling off her fork. The Dark Lord gazed at her, seemingly amused. His dark hair glinted in the candlelight as he looked at her, and while his full lips were curled in a smirk, his red eyes remained impassive. Hermione knew how quickly his amusement could turn back to annoyance, so turning her attention further down the table, she brightened when she saw Luna.

“Luna, good evening!” she called, raising her voice just enough to be heard over the low rumble of conversation that filled the room. At Narcissa's sharp gaze she winced and lowered her tone slightly. “How are things at The Quibbler?”

“Hello Hermione, it is well, thank you. We have a lead on the whereabouts of the Neacorn that has been causing us so much trouble these past few years. I will let you know if we have any success. Hello Mr. Moony,” she sang, her airy voice carrying clearly over the assembled group. “You look lovely there on the floor. Are you enjoying being Hermione’s pet? That collar quite suits you.”

Lupin looked up at Hermione, unsure if he should answer, clearly not wanting to. Hermione wove her fingers in his hair and looked at him kindly, the expression not quite meeting her eyes. 

“Yes, Lupin, do tell. How is life as the ickle Mudblood's pooch?” Bellatrix tittered from her place on the other side of Finn. “Have you learned any tricks?”

Her hand clenching in his hair, Hermione nodded at him. “Speak,” she said simply.

The assembled faithful laughed at the command, Lupin's face burning. When the sound died down and he still made no move to reply to Luna or Bellatrix, she spoke again. 

“Coming to dinner was your choice, not mine, I will remind you. You could've been reading by the fire had you simply gone with me to visit Ron. Do you need another reminder of how to speak when you are spoken to?” Hermione asked, her voice like ice. 

Shaking his head furiously and clutching his injured wrist to his chest, Lupin spoke.

“I am finding it quite enjoyable, Ms. Lovegood,” he said softly, his face aflame.

Nodding to no one in particular, Luna smiled. “That's nice. It's odd though, Hermione, I always thought of you as a cat person.”

Laughing out loud as the first course vanished, Hermione tugged on Lupin's lead, and he gratefully settled into a position on the floor at her feet, a plate of his own appearing there.

Dinner was an enjoyable affair, Voldemort relying the information he has given her that morning to the group, with Lucius adding new details that had been decided that day. They passed the meal in lively conversation, the only discord breaking out when Hermione was once again forced to argue on behalf of Oliver Wood, Luna and Finn her only supporters. When Voldemort had sided with her, she was relieved,hoping that her earlier faux pas in the parlour was finally forgiven. Hermione felt quite overfull as she pushed away her dessert plate, the elderberry tart that had been made especially for her having tempted her to indulge more than usual.

As the party began to break up, the older set making their way back to the lounge they had occupied before the meal while the younger crowd headed out to make use of the many darkened paths that the garden promised, Hermione found herself standing between Finn and the Dark Lord, Lupin having fallen asleep,his belly full once again, while she ate. 

“Lutea, Thorfinn has requested to accompany you on your walk with Lupin, and I have agreed. I know that I usually join you, but I have matters to discuss with Rodolphus and Antonin. Would you mind that change in plans?” The Dark Lord asked, his face unreadable.

“I have been looking forward to our walk, My Lord,” Hermione began carefully, unsure of the response he was looking for. “I have yet to tell you of my visit with Ronald.”

“You had no such desire to do so when the opportunity presented itself, Ms. Granger, so I assumed that you wanted to me to simply remain in the dark,” he replied, Hermione's stomach sinking as he continued. “If you have something you wish to inform me of you may visit me before bed.”

Dread flooded her at his words. “My Lord, please-”

“Later, Ms. Granger,” he said sharply, his words thick with promise. 

Sweeping from the room, a gleeful Ginny walking behind him, Hermione groaned and slumped slightly. Tucking her arm into his, Finn whispered down at her, “It's just a walk in the garden, Hermione, not a firing squad.”

Looking up at Finn, she smiled weakly as he led her from the room, tugging on the lead until a sleepy Lupin began trailing behind them.


	9. A Stroll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry!! *Ducks behind her laptop*

Leaving the Manor, they made their way out to the gardens. While the interior of the estate had only received minor renovations, the grounds had been subjected to an almost brutal overhaul, the existing pathways and plantings so neglected it had been far simpler to simply start from scratch. There was now a potions garden, filled with dark and dangerous plants prone to biting as well as plants that lures you in with sweet smells and pretty blossoms to poison your hands or steal your breath. At the rear of the house, near the kitchens, was an intricate herb garden, the fragrant plants arranged in tidy circles around a charming fountain adorned with playful ducks and their youthful keeper, one of the only things original to the gardens, but charmed now to play a never ending game of chase around the lip of the basin. Hermione and Finn made their way through the public gardens, which were beautiful in the low light of the evening, fireflies twinkling in the hydrangeas and pixies dancing beneath the trees that lined the low wall. They passed Goyle and Blaise who shared a low bench, smoking cigarettes. Wrinkling her nose at the acrid smoke but giggling at the fantastical shapes the men were exhaling, she allowed Finn to escort her through the wooden door set into the stone archway that marked the entrance to the private gardens. 

Walking the gravel lined paths of the maze like garden, nodding at the various lovers they passed, Finn remained silent, allowing Hermione to fret over her upcoming appointment with Voldemort. She knew he was not pleased, she wasn't an idiot, but she wasn't sure why he was so displeased with her. There had been many times in the past when she would choose to wait until their walks to disclose her day to him, wishing to reflect on her actions or those of others before inviting a second party's opinion. He had never reacted in this way before. Yes, he would issue a small punishment, but she thought her public submission in the parlor while he spoke with Lucius would've fulfilled that requirement. He didn't seem upset with as Bella teased her about Finn, even giving her permission to go and sit with Severus. Which was a whole other jar of flobberworms. There was also the not insignificant issue Severus suggested she bring up, which would no doubt now have to wait yet another day. Hermione groaned again, very much dreading their nightly chat.

At her groan, Finn pulled her closer to him, and Hermione marveled again at just how imposing his physical form was. The top of her head just barely reached his shoulders, and her hand seemed so small resting on his forearm. She glanced down at his hand, held loosely near his stomach. She smirked, thinking of the story Bella told her before dinner, unable to stop herself from imagining his hands on her own slim throat. She moaned low in her throat, and Finn, mistaking it for another groan of dread, looked down at her with a look of concern on his face.

“You can't do anything to change it now, Hermione. Might as well enjoy tonight while we can, hmm?” He said, smiling down at her.

“I know you're right, I just find it difficult to climb out of my own head at times. Have you ever known that you were in trouble, that you were going to be punished, but genuinely have no idea why?” She asked, toying with her pendant.

“Plenty of times. Mother was a bit of a Bikkja-” breaking off, Finn glanced at Hermione, a curious look that could only be described as naughty on his face. “That is to say, she wasn't very motherly.”

Hermione snorted at his words, her understanding of Norse was slim, at best, but she had always made it a point to learn how to greet a potential friend, ask for the loo and the embassy, and a few choice slurs to know when to put her guard up. If Finn wanted to call his mother a bitch, Hermione was sure he had reason.

“Her and Father would get into terrible rows, destroying entire rooms in their rages. However, Father never conceded to Mother on a single point. Once he felt his point had been made, he simply left the room, leaving Mother to stew. Having no other outlet, Father having forbidden her as Head to harm the elves, she'd come at me instead,” the tall wizard shrugged, a good natured smile on his face. “She had wicked aim with paperweights. It's why I was such a brilliant Beater, I think. Years of practice deflecting projectiles.”

“How dreadful!” Hermione said. “Unfortunately, I've grown immune to the tales of woe spun by poor little rich Pureblood boys,” she grinned, eyes dancing as she looked up at him.

“Well if I can't make you feel sorry for me, let's just have a nice chat. I asked the Dark Lord if I could accompany you because I would like to know more about you. You wouldn't believe the stories swirling around the Ministry,” he chuckled, thinking back to a tale spun by Erbowl, his Head in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. “If I listened to even half of them I would have no idea how you ever found the time for dinner parties.”

Snorting softly, Hermione smiled. “I have heard that my persona has taken on epic proportions due to my absence from the public eye. What would you like to know, Thorfinn Rowle? Most of my biography is public knowledge, a muggle born witch who is hailed as the brightest of her age turned her back on her friends and now sits at the left hand of the Dark Lord himself. I'm positively droll, I assure you.”

Finn laughed, the booming sound startling Hermione. “Of course, of course. What I want to know is how you're finding life with us Death Eaters. I have enjoyed our conversations about Wizarding history, but they have not allowed me to get to know you. Let's start with something simple. What has surprised you most since coming to join our merry band?”

Taken aback at both the casual use of a muggle turn of phrase and his apparent interest in actually getting to know her, something she expected only from Severus and Narcissa, she spoke candidly. “Besides the fact that you are all perfectly normal people who throw birthday parties and don't like asparagus?”

Finn laughed again, Hermione joining him, at the memory of Rodolphus surreptitiously slipping the vegetables onto Alecto’s plate the year previous, the witch becoming more and more flustered as she couldn't seem to ever reach the end. 

Smiling as their laughter subsided she continued. “Luna's true loyalties surprised me the most, I think. Growing up, it was obvious where Draco, Blaise and Theo fell, it was written all over their pratty, elitist attitudes. Luna always seemed to hover above us all, lost in a world of make believe and sunshine. We were never really close, which is my fault. I never really tried as hard to get to know her as I ought to, her flightiness always grated on my nerves. When Draco told me that her family had supported the Dark Lord all along, that the fantastical creatures that were reported on in The Quibbler were actually code names for those Death Eaters who were managing to survive on the run, evading capture, you could've knocked me over with a feather. It all makes sense now, however,” she said, pausing as Lupin crept behind a bush, his face aflame, “why she always seemed too flighty to be a Ravenclaw. It would take someone incredibly intelligent to carry off that ruse as convincingly as she did. Not to mention why every smug Slytherin in the school was so familiar with her father's newspaper, something that I had believed to be full of ridiculous nonsense.”

Waiting for Lupin to finish his business, she continued. “She hasn't changed much from our school days, thankfully, and I find I am grateful for her willingness to start our friendship anew after my Marking. It has been delightful getting to know her the real her, and we have become quite close. I never thought I would be one for female friendship, but she has helped me keep all the parts of me together, even when I was desperate for them to shatter.”

Finn nodded, smirking slightly as Lupin came out from behind the bush and Hermione gushingly praised him. She wasn't what he had expected, not in the least. When Draco hinted in September that he should give her a Yule gift, he had been confused. He barely had any interaction with the witch outside of Revels and the occasional dinner party. So he had ignored the wizard’s advice, but found himself studying her whenever the opportunity arose. He remembered her from school, Draco's constant whinging on about Potty and the demented duo of Weasel and the Mudblood in the common room ensuring that every Slytherin knew at least her name. She had been nothing of note then, seeming little more than a bushy haired first year Professor’s pet, but she had certainly grown into herself in the years since. She seemed to wear her Darkness like a favorite cloak, one that was saved for special occasions but brought the wearer great pleasure. She was magnificent in battle, the night that they had raided the last known safe house coming to his mind. He didn't know what had possessed him, leaping in front of the cutting curse the was flying towards her trademark hair, but the look on her face after he had killed the wizard responsible, as she knelt beside him covered in his blood, had made him realise that Draco was right. 

He had agonized for weeks over what to give her, wanting to give her something she would enjoy, while being unique enough to be more than just another wizard giving her a book. As their interactions grew, he learned that she was passionate about history, having had such dull instruction in the topic at Hogwarts. Finally, two days before the Yule Ball, he found the perfect gift, ironically in the form of a book. The Druish Abbess was an old relation, but Finn knew that the diary would be the perfect balance of magical and muggle history, and he hoped it would appeal to both sides of her life. It was obviously successful, and she has often used it as an excuse to seek him out, asking questions about Druid history and teaching him about the muggle Middle Ages. Coming back to the present, Finn’s smirk grew wider as he thought of 'Looney Lovegood’ and the double life she led.

“It was quite a nice inside joke, in Slytherin, especially when she was adopted by your little trio,” Finn said, his smirk growing quite devilish. “She spent her holidays and summers with the Malfoy's, did you know? As much as her cluelessness was an act, Xenophilius comes by it quite naturally. She didn't interact with him much more than is necessary, the death of her mother taking what little sense he seemed to have left. The day you had your run in with him was I think the last straw for Luna. She was acting spy in the dungeons, hoping she could get something out of Ollivander, when we had to break the news to her that her batty father had gone and gotten their house blown up.”

“Her and Draco are lovely together, aren't they? I wasn't sure what I thought about it at first, my troubles with Draco being what they were. He is different with her though, lighter, more spirited. It does give me chills sometimes, how alike they look. Is everyone quite sure they aren't related?” Hermione asked as they reached the end of the rose lined path, turning to head back inside.

“No more than most of us, I'm afraid,” Finn replied, a grin filling his face. “You can be sure Narcissa has checked the lineage quite thoroughly, as familiar as she is with the dangers of inbreeding.”

Pausing in their stroll, the pair looked at each other and said in unison “Bellatrix.”

Laughing, they continued their walk, talk turning to the upcoming changes in the Wizangamot and whether or not Krum’s winning catch was truly legal. Hermione found herself laughing as Finn passionately declared that all was fair in love and Quidditch, dropping Lupin’s lead as she tried to catch her breath. The moment it hit the dirt, Lupin looked at her, an unreadable look on his face. Just as Finn bent to grab it, he took off, tearing across the garden as quickly as a grown wizard could manage on all fours. Finn cursed, drawing his wand, but Hermione laid a hand on his arm.

“Leave it,” she whispered, watching Lupin race toward the fence with the amusement fading from her features. “This might be his last chance to run.”

When he was about twenty feet from the low stone wall that surrounded the garden, the wizard seemed to remember that he was a man, and as such had only to use his legs to flee captivity. He paused for just a moment before lunging to his feet, his stride unsteady from disuse. Determination filled his features as he neared the barrier to freedom, but his legs slowed the closer he got. As his pace slowed to a walk, Hermione and Finn could see the anguish on his face as he tried desperately to force his body to move faster. His body fighting him every step of the way, he managed to make it within three feet of freedom. He fell to the ground, an eerie howl ripping from his chest. Finn looked at Hermione, slightly confused at the calm she displayed.

“He can’t leave. His wolf recognizes me as Alpha,” she said, as she began to walk towards the still howling wizard, although they were quieting as the pair drew closer. “Lupin has deluded himself too long, and in doing so has denied his wolf the pack it desires. Greyback rules through fear and brute strength, something that a wolf like Lupin’s distrusts. He has been so easy to tame because I gained the trust of the wolf, not the man. Breaking a man like Lupin should've taken weeks, if not longer, but his wolf was crying out for an Alpha like I could be. I would wager it was what attracted him to Nymphadora, despite Lupin’s moral protest. I simply played to my strengths, and now he is bound to me.” Raising her head, she whistled low, and the wizard’s head lifted off the ground, his pain filled yellow eyes meeting her soft brown. She extended a single hand, crooking her fingers to bid him to return to her. 

Looking truly broken, he rose from the dirt, his robe soiled and torn. He crawled back to her, fear warring with relief on his expressive face. When he was within arms reach again, he stopped, bowing his head and dropping to his forearms. He remained in that position, shaking slightly, as Finn stared, enraptured by the witch beside him.

“Mooney,” Hermione scolded, her voice full of tenderness. “What are you thinking? You know you can never run away from me, not now. Does the thought of returning to the pack displease you so much that you would force my hand? Truly your time here hasn't been so distasteful?”

Closing the distance, she knelt in front of him. Reaching a hand out to cup his cheek, she snatched it back as he snapped at her. Suddenly, he lunged, tackling her into the mud. They wrestled furiously, Finn raising his wand, until suddenly Lupin stilled from his place on top of Hermione, her knees pressed against his legs, his arms wrapped around her stomach. Hermione had curled around him and buried her teeth in the back of his neck, forcing his inner wolf to submit to her dominance. Lifting himself from her, he slumped on the ground next to her. Hermione sat up, and twining her fingers in his hair, she tugged, forcing him to meet her gaze. He snarled, trying to pull free, and so she yanked, causing a yelp to ring out. “Is this truly what you want, Remus? You know I can deny you nothing, not even this, as much as it would break my heart.”

Remus looked up at her, his eyes shifting wildly from amber to green. Finn gasped beside her, clearly moved by the anguish he saw there. Breathing out a sigh of her own, Hermione sat up on the ground next to the man. The tall wizard burrowed into her lap, sobs overtaking him as she cradled him in her small arms. Running her hands down his back, she simply held him, content to let him make this choice. While he cried, she sang to him, a song that she remembered hearing on the radio during her last trip with her parents.

“Time can bring you down, time can bend your knees. Time can break your heart, have you begging please, begging please. Beyond the door there's peace I'm sure. And I know there'll be no more tears in heaven.”

Wiping her own eyes, Hermione pulled her wand from the pocket of her now ruined gown. Her arm was steady as she raised it behind Lupin’s head, the fresh tears running down her face the only thing betraying her true feelings. Even still, her voice was steady as she spoke the final words Remus Lupin would ever hear. “Avada Kedavra.”

Green light filled the quiet corner of the garden, and as Finn blinked to clear his vision, he could see Hermione gently lowering the man to the ground before rising. When she turned to him, there was almost no trace of the emotional display he had just witnessed. Had he not seen it unfold with his own eyes, he would've never believed that she had comforted the werewolf through his final breaths, her compassionate end the last gift she could give someone who had once been a friend. 

Pulling her into his arms, he withdrew his own wand and Summoned an elf, knowing that no one would care to be interrupted for a death such as this. They stood there for several moments as the elf appeared and quickly vanished again with the body, Finn curious as to the lack of emotion the witch was now displaying especially after what he had just witnessed. Leaning back slightly, he looked down into her eyes, silently asking if she was alright. Smiling gently up at him, she nodded. 

“As much as it pained me to do it, it was what was best. Fenrir would have torn him limb from limb if he had come back bound to me. His wolf wouldn't have been able to bear it. I’ve known all along our time together would end like this, I just didn't anticipate it coming from my own hand.” Sighing again, she lifted her small hand to cup his chin, her fingers surprisingly warm. “The timing could've been better, I'll admit, but Our Lord will be pleased with my initiative, I'm sure. Hopefully that will have an impact on our conversation tonight.”

Gazing down at the strong witch in his arms, Finn found he couldn't help himself. He would regret the timing of his actions in the morning when he had time to reflect, he was sure, if Voldemort didn't tear him from his bed for it later, but consequences be damned. Gathering her into his arms again he kissed her, his lips firm on hers. As she lifted her arms to wrap them around his neck, he deepened the kiss, moaning slightly as Hermione bit his lower lip gently. The remained there, lost in each other for what felt simultaneously like both an age and the briefest of seconds. When they broke apart, panting, Hermione grinned up at him. 

“I hope that doesn't count as one of my presents, Finn,” she teased, the effect ruined slightly by her breathlessness.

“Consider is a preview, Hermione. I do believe you requested something handmade,” Finn replied, his own voice husky.

They turned as one, Hermione’s arm once again resting chastely on his, and resumed their stroll, the immaculately dressed wizard an odd pair to the mud caked witch.

Walking in companionable silence as the Manor came into view again, each lost in wildly different trains of thought, Hermione felt fingers of dread begin to creep back into her stomach. It had been so long since she had displeased Voldemort, she truly didn't know what to expect. He was displeased that she had Occluded, that was obvious, but she wasn't sure how he would react to the memory her losing control of her magic. The last time it had happened he had been delighted she was giving in to her Darkness, but she wasn't sure if he would respond the same way today. Not to mention that whole business with Severus, and now Finn. She was unconcerned as to his reaction about Lupin, her remark to Finn being the truth. He would be pleased with her, she knew as much, but she didn't know how much leniency that pleasure would grant her. She knew that the only way to appease him now would be to give him full access to her day, and while she didn't want to upset him further by omitting information, she also didn't want to get Severus in trouble. While Finn had been fully in charge of their kisses, she truly had manipulated Severus’ into giving her what she wanted, despite her playful apology.

Sensing her withdraw into herself again, Finn decided to end their unexpected evening on a positive note, despite whatever might be awaiting her in the Dark Lord’s chambers. 

“Thank you for a most enlightening evening, Hermione,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. “I shall endeavor to spend many more like it, if you'll have me?”

Looking up into his ernest eyes, smiling inwardly at the lust she saw displayed so nakedly there, she simply nodded. 

“I find I would like that very much, Finn.”


	10. Punishment

Holding Lupin's leather leash loosely in a clenched fist, Hermione stood outside of Voldemort's door, the wood a darker finish than her own, but otherwise identical. Pausing to collect her thoughts, she tried to steel herself for what lay on the other side. She had come here directly from the gardens, not wanting to incur further displeasure by making him wait.

“The only way on is through,” she muttered, summoning her Gryffindor courage from wherever it had been hiding, as she drew a deep breath and knocked. The door swung open at a spoken command, and Hermione squared her shoulders and entered. Voldemort was seated before the roaring fire, a book open on his lap and a glass of scotch on the rocks resting on the end table next to him, while Ginny dozed before the dancing flames. The flickering light shadowed his face, rendering his mood indiscernible. Hermione walked toward him steadily, her eyes fixed on the dirty and ragged hem of her now ruined gown. When she reached his feet, she knelt, laying the leash right at the hem of his robes on the polished wood before bending at the waist, arms still outstretched, to lay her forehead on the cool surface. She remained in that position, silent, for several minutes. The fire crackled and the ice rattled while she waited for him to acknowledge her presence. Closing his book with a soft thump, he sent it back to the shelf nonverbally as he raised his glass. After taking a deep sip, he spoke, the liquor honeying his tone.

“Have you come to seek forgiveness or praise, Lutea?” he asked, the words flowing like the finest silk.

Remaining silent, Hermione remained in her supplicant’s position as he replaced the glass and stood, leaving the leash where it lay on the ground, her silent plea for grace. Stalking around her, he came to a stop where he began, his dragonhide boots barely visible beneath the formal dress robes he still wore.

“Your position indicates that it is forgiveness that you desire, but your gift seems to be begging for praise. You are quite the contrary creature, Ms. Granger,” he murmured, Hermione stiffening slightly at his formality. Forcing herself to relax again, she pressed her forehead more firmly into the floor. 

Voldemort crossed the room to his desk, the slight rustling indicating that he was rearranging his ever present research, but he settled into his wingback chair before speaking again.

“Come,” he commanded, his voice deceptively soft. Hermione rose stiffly from her position on the floor, trying and failing to banish the trembling in her limbs. As she made her way unsteadily to him, his face softened and he opened his arms wide. Accepting his invitation, she crawled into his lap, resting her head against his collarbone. Breathing deeply, she drew comfort from his familiar scent of smoke and musk. Feeling the tension in her body cease, she simply sat there, enjoying the comfort he provided, knowing that it couldn't last. After a few minutes, Voldemort's voice rang out clearly across the room, her sense of calm shattered at his words.

“I am disappointed, Hermione,” he said simply, tears pooling in her eyes instantly at the thought of displeasing her Lord. Sensing her mood instantly, he placed a hand on her small chin, forcing her to look up at him. “Why am I disappointed, pet?”

“I did not give you share with you what happened in the cells?” Hermione asked, her soft voice slightly questioning. 

Voldemort struck as quick as a viper, his hand striking the side of her face hard enough to rattle her teeth. Hermione started to lift her hand to her cheek, but lowered it again at the look in his eyes. They were blazing red, a true indicator of the rage that was swirling inside of him.

Shaking his head, he spoke again, his voice still deceptively gentle. “Do I strike you as a wizard who would hold petty grudges, Ms. Granger? You know you wouldn’t have been able to keep me out if that was my only concern. I have told you many times that as long as you disclose your activities by the end of the day I will never begrudge you the time you need to overanalyze the situations you find yourself in. Try again.”

“B-because I was late to dinner?” Hermione tried again, truly confused now. She had been convinced that he had still been upset at dinner because she had Occluded.

His hand slipped from her chin to wrap around her neck. Squeezing brutally, he held the pressure for a full minute and a half, Hermione’s face red and her lips just starting to lose color. He loosened his grip and she drew a ragged breath. She felt the tears in her eyes begin to fall as she looked at him, truly at a loss as to what she had done to earn his displeasure.

“My Lord, please-” Hermione was cut off as he flexed his hand again, the words dying along with the breath in her throat.

“Let's take a look together, shall we?”

Looking deep into his crimson eyes, Hermione felt herself transported back to the entry parlor at Malfoy Manor. Walking slightly behind Voldemort as she conversed with Narcissa, she was surprised to hear him chuckle as she teased the witch. 

“I said no such thing, you naughty minx,” he said, smiling softly. 

Still anxious about what was to come, she smiled weakly at him, rubbing her throat. “She asked for a naughty bit of gossip, My Lord. I knew that she had been to see Lucius, so my white lie was a safe bet.”

Shaking his head slightly as they arrived at her with meeting Draco, Voldemort turned back to the scene that was playing out before then. Not wishing to be reminded of the outcome of the previous day's attacks, Hermione allowed her thoughts to wander. The Dark Lord’s particular method of Legilimency was potent, allowing him to relive the memories of another person while also interacting with them when he so chose, serving much like a Penseive. It was helpful when she wished him to listen to her motives, as would possibly come later with Severus and perhaps Lupin’s death, but could also be quite painful, as the memory of losing control with Ronald would surely be. Looking up, Hermione was surprised to find that they were already in the high value cells, her memory self lecturing Ron in her best Prefect tone, her lips curling slightly as she witnessed herself casting the spell that would turn his blood to ice. Voldemort said nothing, content to simply watch the scene unfold without any additional commentary.

As she Crucioed the defenseless wizard, she allowed her gaze to wander to the other occupants of the cell. She remembered waving playfully at Kingsley and Aberforth, and now she wandered closer to their cells, marveling at the details her mind was able to capture, even without conscious thought. The wizards were sitting near the front of their cells, their gaunt frames supported by the narrow bars that served as doors. She watched in amusement as they listened, enraptured, to her recounting of the second half of her third year, Kingsley flinching as she disclosed the scope of her research to Ron. Suddenly both wizards crawled to the backs of their cells, along with the other 3 occupants of the solitary cells, and she turned back to the memory just as she began to torture Ron in ernest. She was enchanted by the image before her, her rage displayed so clearly on her face, the darkness in the room oppressive even in this more shadowed form. However as her screams of rage grew more crazed, she flinched slightly, her similarities to Bellatrix being much to pronounced to ignore. Looking instead at Voldemort, she was pleased to see the lust evident on his face as he witnessed firsthand the rising Darkness she was unleashing. Behind her memory self, Hermione could see the door creak open, just as the Lacerating curse fractured from her wand, striking not only Ron, but Kingsley and a witch Hermione did not know, but believed to be Hestia Jones. She had been present the night that Harry’s protection had ended at the Dursley’s, but Hermione had not seen her since. 

Watching Blaise run across the room and wrap his arms around the petite witch, Hermione gasped at the rage with which she clawed at his face. As he sat with her on his lap, rocking her slightly and singing some Pureblood lullabye, Voldemort turned to Hermione, pleasure written across his face. He held out his hand to her and she took it, allowing him to bring them out of the memory.

“Lutea,” he whispered, his words like a caress. “My precious flower blooming up from the filth of your birth. How do you always find new ways to please me?” He wrapped his arms around her waist, forcing her chest to his. She shivered at the contact, her evening gown providing little protection from the heat of his body.

“Did you see anything there that might have caused my current wrath?” He asked calmly, his hands toying with her shoulders.

“No, My Lord,” she replied truthfully, knowing that he was pleased with how she had lost control.

“Indeed. Let us continue,” he said, running his eyes down her form hungrily, the short nails on his long fingers digging into her back. As she arched into him, moaning softly, his eyes met hers and she was transported back to the impromptu gathering before dinner.

She was perched in Voldemort's lap, Bellatrix standing next to her, rubbing her stomach where Hermione had caught her with her elbow. She watched as Voldemort released her, nudging her towards Severus. As her memory self made her way to the low couch, Hermione kept her eyes on the Dark Lord, trying to see what he wanted her to see. As she began to confide in Severus, she watched Voldemort stiffen, his enhanced hearing clearly able to hear their quiet conversation. She felt cold dread fill her stomach once again and she couldn't hold back her gasp. This was why he was still upset with her. She had withheld the truth from him, but sought comfort and reassurance from Severus just minutes later. She knew that Voldemort demanded she be reliant on him, to never bring her worries to another without first seeking his counsel. The night before her initiation had been forgiven because he had already dismissed her concerns when she brought them to him, she simply didn't like his answer. Hanging her head, she laid a hand on his arm, drawing him out of the reviere he seemed to be in as he watched the flames dancing in the fireplace. Dropping to her knees before him, she lay her hands across her knees, palms up, in a true display of submission this time. He laid his hand on her head and the memory swirled, Hermione once again finding herself seated in his lap.

“Do you know now why I am disappointed in you, Hermione?” He asked, his voice still soft, but clearly showing his displeasure. 

“Yes, My Lord,” she began, her voice trembling as she looked at his chest, afraid to meet his red eyes again. “I didn't trust you with my fear after losing control, and I placed the counsel of another above your own.” 

He placed his hand on her chin again and roughly forced her gaze upon to meet his. Recoiling slightly at the heat still very much present in his eyes, she continued to hold his gaze, resigning herself to his punishment, knowing that she deserved it. 

'I am your Lord, Hermione. You seek comfort only from me.” He punctuated his words with his teeth, biting the exposed skin above the dress she still wore. Opening a drawer, he pulled out a knife, and Hermione stilled as she recognized the skull carved into the green hilt. Unable to tear her eyes away from the silver knife, her hand reached to grasp her left forearm without thought. The movement caused the mud that had dried on her hands to flake, and Voldemort's gaze sharpened,   
seeming to notice the mud staining her dress and the tears Lupin had inflicted on it. 

“Whatever has happened to your beautiful dress?” he asked, his right hand trailing langiously down her body to pick slightly at the dried mud. “I only gave permission for Rowle to walk with you this evening.”

Gazing down at him from her position in his lap, Hermione swung her legs so that she was straddling the Dark Lord. Placing her hands on either side of his face, she bid him to enter her thoughts in a more conventional manner, the scene with Lupin foremost in her mind. He arched an eyebrow as she stayed Finn’s hand, a knowing smile playing across his lips as she explained the reality of the situation to him. Voldemort hummed along with the Eric Clapton tune, surprising Hermione slightly, until he groaned deep in his throat when she killed him. Withdrawing from her mind as Finn bent to kiss her, he leaned forward and captured her lips with his own, the reality mingling with the memory still playing in her mind.

Hermione moaned as he deepened the kiss, the sound rousing Ginny, who hissed at the pair as she made her way to her chambers that sat off of Voldemort's, slamming the door behind her. Breaking the kiss, the Dark Lord chuckled as Hermione attempted to catch her breath, a smirk lightening his dark features. 

“I believe we have upset Ginerva, princess,” he murmured, his lips against her throat. “I find I quite like the moniker Ronald came up with, I believe it suits you well.”

Her lip curling slightly in disgust, Hermione beckoned him back into her mind without a second thought, her interaction with Snape playing out between them. Voldemort laughed as she stamped her foot in frustration, the sound ending quickly as Severus pinned her to the wall, Voldemort's hand on her waist tightening as the pair kissed. He pulled out of her mind as she entered her bedroom, anger once again battling with the desire still evident in his face, the potent mixture causing him to swell beneath her, the evidence of his arousal clear to her beneath the silk of her ruined dress.

Growling deeper this time, he gripped her dress tighter, the fragile fabric tearing under his hands. He shredded the skirt of her gown, his lips devouring hers angrily. Hermione moaned, low in her throat, her fear of punishment and the knife he still clutched fleeing as she chased the pleasure only he could offer. She weaved her free hand into the front of his robes, tugging fiercely as the remnants of her skirt fell away. Straddling the Dark Lord in little more than her bodice and silk stockings, she felt his hands toying with the emerald garter belt she wore to keep them in place, as any proper Pureblood Princess should do. Snapping the ribbon against her thigh cruelly, her moans grew louder as he lifted her into his desk. He pressed his hands against her chest, the pressure causing her to fall backwards, sprawling out across his desk.

“I could tear his lips from his face for daring to touch you, Lutea,” he whispered, lips trailing across her collarbone as she lay, sprawled wantonly across his desk. “He spoke true. You are mine, and I do. Not. Share.”

He punctuated his words with the point of the blade, slamming it into the ornate desktop with each syllable.

“Recognized this little beauty, did you?” Voldemort chuckled, twirling the knife while staring down at the witch, who was trembling now out of fear, her arousal still evident even as she quaked on the desk. “Bellatrix gave it to me the night I gave her a scar to match yours. She isn't as proud of my handiwork as you seem to be of hers, but I'll admit, it isn't my best work,” he continued, his fingers stroking the Dark Mark on Hermione’s right arm, the brand clearly displayed as she still clutched her forearm. “However one must understand the finesse required to carve an arm belonging to an individual whose blood is slowly turning acidic. Connasse has so many delicate letters, you see. You can tell from the double O’s she gifted you, the curvy letters are the trickiest ones.”

Hermione looked up at him, her jaw having literally fallen open as he calmly related this little tale. 

“You took this blade to her arm? For me?” she asked, breathlessly.

“No, my Pet,” he replied, trailing the blade down the front of her dress. “For me. You belong to me. My Lutea...do you know the meaning of the word?” He asked, nicking her collarbone lightly with the cursed blade.

“I thought it meant yellow, My Lord,” Hermione answered, gasped at the sting, finding herself slightly confused by the turn the conversation had taken. 

Continuing to run the knife down her torso, Voldemort made a series of small cuts across her decolletage as he watched her face. Hermione bit her lip, drawing blood, but made no noise as blood began to mix with the mud staining her body.

“That seems to be it's most persistent translation, but that was not its original usage. It means good for nothing,” he replied, smiling as the witch frowned slightly. He turned his attention to her bodice now, cutting loose the tiny gems and glass beads that had once adorned her dress. “Belonging to mud or filth. Never forget, Hermione, my pampered little princess, that whatever else you may become, that is where you began. From the mud of your birth has risen a glorious creature, blooming like a lotus, the bloom held tall as though to distract from where it roots in filth. Yet despite your unfortunate beginnings, you outshine all those around you, those who have been given every opportunity since infancy. That is what you are to me, My Lutea.”

Her eyes filling with an unexpected tenderness, she reached up for him, clutching at his neck to pull him closer. As their lips met once again, Hermione felt herself freeing her Darkness, the air in the room humming as it flirted with his own. Rising above her, he brought the small dagger up, cutting through the bodice effortlessly. As she lay bare, save for soaked lingerie and silk stockings below him, he dropped the knife to the desk with a clatter. With the softest of touches he traced the runes carved below her breasts, goose bumps breaking out across her pale skin. As he caressed the runes spelling out his gift of protection, he ground into her, her breath coming in pants as her hair spilled out of the careful updo Jilly had created. 

Claiming her lips once again, he wordlessly removed his robes, relishing in the feel of her soft skin beneath him. Her nails dug into his back as she drug him still closer, craving the feel of him on her like nothing else before. His lips toyed with her ear as she moaned, biting her abused lips in a futile attempt to quiet herself. He pressed hot kisses across her collarbone, licking the blood that pooled there, before he journeyed languidly to her breasts, her nipples stiff points in the overwarm room. Taking one between his lips, he bit down cruelly, the coppery taste in his mouth made sweet by the sound of her cries.

“My Lord!” Hermione cried, her voice somewhere between a moan and a plea. “Please!”

Smirking up at her, he continued his torture of her pert breasts, swinging from soft caresses to punishing bites with no warning. As the smell of her arousal filled the room he trailed his hand to her secret place, known only by one other wizard. He slipped his long fingers into the silk, pausing to tug on the soft hair there as he bit at the underside of her breast, stopping only as his teeth met unforgiving bone. At her cry, he allowed his fingers to trail over her opening, the satiny fluid there leaving no doubt as to her desire for him. 

Hermione was lost in a sea of pleasure, her body humming with desire for the dark wizard above her. She could feel his length pressing against her thigh, and thought longingly of how it might feel inside her. She gasped as his fingers brushed against her clit, fireworks exploding in her brain. Lifting her hips from the hardwood, she felt him tear the expensive silk from her body. He threw the scraps to join the others littering the floor, his gaze hungry as he leaned over her, hands gripping her hair. Kissing her again, he ground himself into her wet heat. His teeth tore at her lips, both of them breathless. Wrapping his hand around her throat, he pulled her from the desk, forcing her to kneel at his feet. Her eyes wide, pupils blown out with need, she shifted uncomfortably, desperate for relief. He clenched his fingers in her hair again, and Hermione keened with desire. Leaning forward, he rubbed the head of his swollen member against her lips. 

“Would you like to please me, Hermione?” He asked, his voice thick.

“My Lord, please” she moaned, eyes turning hungry. 

Exhaling loudly, he entered her parted lips, head falling back as he hit the back of her throat. He set a punishing rhythm, not allowing her to catch her breath. Hermione dug her nails into his thighs, drawing blood in her passion. Her eyes watering, her nose clogging as he forced himself into the back of her throat, she struggled to breathe, his pace growing erratic as she attempted to swallow around him and find some way to force air down her throat. He drew back slightly, the stiffening in his posture Hermione’s only warning. As she felt the thick fluid begin to shoot out, she pulled her head back and opened her mouth wide. His release was messy, her mouth full and dripping down her chin by the time he was spent. Hermione stayed kneeling, mouth open, until he opened his eyes again. Gazing down at her, his gaze darkened further as he saw her on her knees, mouth still open, awaiting his wishes. 

“Swallow,” he said, his voice hoarse from shouting as he came. Hermione did as commanded, her eyes never leaving his. She brought her fingers up to her chin, gathering the cum lingering there. Lowering her hand, she spread the thick offering across the runes spelled out across her ribcage, eyes rolling back in her head. Voldemort growled, dragging her back to her feet. He picked her up, wrapping her legs around his torso as he carried her to his bed. Laying her down almost reverently, his lips began to trail down her body again. Using his tongue more than his teeth this time, Hermione was keening with need and fisting the down coverlet by the time he made his way back to her mound. 

As his lips hovered above her, he looked up at her, his eyes a burning red in the darkened room. Hermione flinched minutely at the memories those eyes called to mind, but lost all thought as he pressed his lips to her. He teased her exquisitely, biting her clit softly while shallowly fingering her slit, his fingers honoring her body's defenses even now. She was lost to reality, Voldemort having slipped into her mind when their eyes met. He was feeding her the most sinful visions, images of her writhing on his cock as she rode him furiously, her hair wild and unbound. His tongue slipped inside her, drinking her offerings as she had so eagerly swallowed his just minutes before. He ran a hand up her stomach, fingers pinching her nipple as he bit down on her clit. Hermione mewled as she ground against him, so close to the relief she was craving. He pressed his other hand against her inner thigh, forcing her wide open to him. He brought a thumb to her most sensitive place, rubbing circles against it as he rolled her nipple under her fingers. He licked her deeply, kissing her there as passionately as he had her lips while he had he spread across his desk. Just before she finally broke, he pulled his lips from her with a smack. With a glint in his eye, he whispered. “Crucio.”

As her body stiffened in pain, her screams were an exquisite blend of agony and bliss. Voldemort continued his worship of her, filling her with his tongue while he continued to rub furiously on her clit. He lifted the curse as she crested again, and when she came the second time, it was with only his name on her lips.


	11. The Weekend

Hermione sat up with a start, then quickly sank back down into the mattress with a groan. Merlin, everything ached. Closing her eyes lightly, because even that small action hurt, she thought back over her last memories of her evening with Voldemort. Goosebumps prickled across her skin, even nestled warmly as she was under the covers, as she thought of his mouth on hers. Her body trembled with aftershocks of his trademark Crucio as she remembered falling apart in his bed. Raising an arm slowly, the effort draining, she Summoned a Pepper-Up potion from the medicine cabinet. Or tried to. Groaning again as she heard the vial shatter against the still Warded bathroom door, she turned her head with great effort to glare at the closed door. Contemplating the benefits of trying to sleep the aches away, she sighed as she knew it would be pointless. 

“Jilly,” she croaked out, waiting for the flamboyantly dressed elf to appear. When nothing happened for several minutes, Hermione knew that the Dark Lord’s anger hadn't been appeased with a simple curse. “My Lord?” She called hopefully, knowing in her heart that if he had denied her Jilly he wouldn't be responding either. Gathering her strength, she took a deep breath before sliding out of bed.

“Bloody fucking hell!” She cried, her head filling with light as she landed on the floor in an ungraceful heap. After laying there a few moments, panting, she channeled her magic to the runes marking her ribcage. Feeling them flicker slightly, she sighed as she felt marginally better. Knowing it was as good as it was probably going to get, she began to laboriously drag herself across the polished oak. Cursing as her naked skin, tacky with dried sweat and bodily fluids clung to the smooth surface, she cried out in relief as she finally reached the solid door. Leaning her head against the cool surface, she allowed herself only a moment of rest before continuing on to the relief that she knew lay on the other side. 

“Accio wand,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper after the strain of hauling her not insignificant weight the twenty feet from the bed. When her vine wand didn't come zipping into her outstretched hand, she let out a sob. “Accio WAND!” She cried out, hoping against the odds that it was simply the weak tone she had used before that refused to turn up her treasure. When still nothing happened, she let her head sink to the floor, uncaring of the pain of finding her head wedged between the door jam and the floor. She lay there, crying like a child, for several moments before she became aware of the silky liquid that was pooling against her cheek. Opening her swollen eyes, she nearly began crying again as she spotted the slightly iridescent liquid that was seeping out from under the door. 

Heedless of the picture she presented, she stuck out her tongue, sighing in relief as she tastes the familiar peppermint taste of the potion she had attempted to Summon earlier. Relief trickled through her as the scant amount of potion she was able to lap up shamelessly from the metal threshold began to work it's, well,magic. Mind racing, she spoke again. 

'Accio Pepper Up. Accio Pain Relief. Accio Pain Relief!” Hearing the vials crash into the door in quick succession, she nearly began crying again as she saw the pool below the door grow larger. Ignoring the slivers of glass that mingled with the nectar she sought, she drank down as much as she could, wincing as the glass embedded into her tongue as she licked the last remnants from the floor. Laying down again, she kept her mouth slightly open, knowing the spells Voldemort had carved into her would soon be forcing the slivers back out as her tongue healed itself.

That was the work that Regulus had been chasing across the depths of Africa. The runes etched in her skin were reminiscent of those that were carved into the grand magical Manor houses across the world, ensuring that the stones would remain untouched by time. Malfoy Manor had the runes etched in the window casings as well, protecting the thin glass and adding another level of protection to the ancient wards they had in place. The house elves tended to them like muggles restained decks, yearly maintenance to keep the house in top shape. They weren't the same runes, as Hermione was made of flesh and bone, not wood and brick, but the concept was the same. The ancient shaman scattered in the wilderness had spent centuries honing their skill, protecting their secrets with a magic the Dark Lord craved to recreate. The ritual had been intense, breaking her body almost beyond recognition before building it back up again. 

For the almost twenty years that Regulus had spent searching for the magic, it still wasn't perfect. He hadn't been able to gather all the knowledge needed to perform the ancient protections, the Shamen turning themselves to ash before they would spill their secrets. As a result, Hermione’s body could heal itself from small wounds, and she was protected from most slow acting poisons, but she was as susceptible to more damaging magics as any other witch. The runes would serve to keep her looking young and she had not so much as sneezed since the ritual, but Voldemort had been less than pleased with the outcome, believing the runes would render her superhuman, desiring for a less fracturing route to the immortality he still craved. He had lost his confidence in his Horcruxes after a trio of teenagers had so handedly destroyed three of them, as well as the strenuous journey he had made to regain the pieces of himself that had been lost. Contrary to all research, the pieces of his soul were not destroyed, but freed. He spent a year and a half after Harry's death searching for those lost fragments, grafting them back to him with the darkest of magics. As a result, he was not quite as reptilian as he had once been, although he was no longer the charismatically handsome man he was in his youth.

Feeling the trembling in her limbs subside to a more manageable level, Hermione pushed herself up to a standing position. Walking slowly to the closet, she dressed in simple robes, cringing at the feel of even the softest fairy silk against her skin. Making her way arduously to her chair, she smiled as she saw a tea tray and toast being kept under stasis. Removing the charm with a wave of her hand, she sunk into the plush upholstery and inhaled the spicy blend. Severus’ signature, as distinctive as the one that addressed every Hogwarts letter wafted up to her nose, Hermione knowing the blend well. It had a potent mixture of restorative herbs carefully blended with the tea leaves, and Hermione reached for the saucer carefully, not wanting to waste a single drop. 

She sat there, savoring her meager breakfast for almost an hour. By the time she had finished, she felt like she had just run one of the muggle Iron Man races, which was a marked improvement over feeling as though she had been hit by the Knight Bus, which had been her state upon waking. She walked to the door and tried the handle. It was locked, as she knew it would most likely be. Muttering to herself about the indignity of being grounded like a child, she made her way to the bookcase. Her soft grumbling grew in volume and intensity when she realized she had Warded the bookcases as well, a habit whenever she left Lupin in the room alone. Glancing at the bedding still piled in the corner, a sob rose in her throat when she remembered the scene in the garden. 

She had spoken truth to Finn, she really had no choice. The yellow in his eyes at dinner when she had spoken so calmly of sending him back to Greyback's pack had sealed his fate. While Lupin would've been distraught at the thought of going back to the pack, his wolf was terrified. Hermione had known then what needed to be done, but his actions in the garden had forced her hand. Taking comfort in his quick end, at the hand of someone she hoped he knew cared deeply for him, Hermione knelt and began to slowly fold up the hodgepodge of blankets.

The blankets piled neatly in the corner, Hermione made her way to her desk. Her research was locked away, but she had only Warded the drawers, not the desktop itself. Sighing softly, she took a piece of parchment and began to write. 

'Remus Lupin, Head and last of the House of Lupin, passed away in the gardens of Nathair Manor on Friday evening,” she began, her hand moving quickly across the page as she wrote out a simple obituary for the solemn wizard, the only acknowledgement Hermione knew his death would ever receive spilling out of her quill. She filled the page with his accomplishments, embellishing only when it came to his relationship with Nymphadora, his life summed up in a full page of her neat script. When she was finished, she lit a candle and gazed into it's dancing flame. Gathering the magic she felt thrumming through her, she spoke.

“Time has passed, the Wheel has turned.   
It is time for you, Remus, to move on.   
You will walk hand in hand with the Lord and Lady and with your ancestors who came before you. Morgana, welcome Remus back into your womb. Merlin, welcome him back   
into your divine instruction. Let him come to you and know that he has been blessed   
by your gracious gift of Life and your infinite peace in death. Let him come into your Divine Love, and let him know that he has left behind a legacy, that he shall be remembered and loved. As he enters your world, wrap him in your loving arms, and welcome him home by name. Let him speak to the Ancient Ones to learn the greater mysteries that lie beyond the veil. Give him the strength to take the final steps,   
and allow him to do so with peace and dignity.   
I who have been left behind shall indeed mourn his death, but I shall also know that his Soul and Spirit is coming back to his true Mother and Father, and that he shall be made whole again. I shall cry, but I shall also laugh, for I shall celebrate the Life that had been given to Remus Lupin. And let him also know   
that although we now part, that we shall also one day meet again. And I now, with these candles respect the flame of Remus’ life,   
and though these candle flames shall die out,   
I know that Remus shall live on, and his flame shall never cease to burn, and I know that he shall be reborn anew. Take him by the hand and guide him back into your heart, for this is what is right and just. Let him walk unerringly   
down the path that leads to your Love. This is my will and so Mote It Be.”

Rising from the desk, she wiped the tears that had begun to stream down her face. Picking up the obituary, she walked to the fire crackling in the grate. Kneeling before it, she kissed the parchment softly. 

“Bonded in life, united in death, mischievous forever. Rest easy, my friend. Give Harry my love, what of it still exists in my blackened heart.”

Leaning forward, she placed the parchment in the flames, watching the edges curl and blacken. She remained there, watching until the paper was indistinguishable from the rest of the ash in the grate. Pushing herself back to her feet with a groan, she took the diary from the desktop and slowly made her way back to her armchair. She spent the day alternating between familiar passages and napping, leisurely eating the meals that shimmered into existence. When night fell outside her windows, she didn't even notice, having fallen asleep with her feet tucked under her and a teacup in her hand.

Sunday was spent in a much more productive manner, her magic having restored itself enough to allow her access to the loo and her desk. The Wards on the bookcases had proved to be beyond her, wandless as she still was, but she contended herself with a decadently long bath and organizing the notes she had gathered for Severus on the effects of night blooming flowers in sleep depriving potions. So the second day of her punishment was spent much more pleasantly than the first, until Hermione laid the last sheet of parchment down. Suddenly she was gripped by an intense anxiety, much stronger than she had felt when she realized she had incurred the Dark Lord’s wrath. His words when he had witnessed the kiss she had stolen floated to the front of her mind. Would he seek to punish Severus for falling for her manipulations? While she sat, relatively unharmed in her high tower, was Voldemort even then torturing the wizard for soiling what he had claimed, however tenuously, as his own?

What about the kisses she had shared with Finn? Where Severus had kissed her with full understanding of the consequences that would befall him, Finn was as aloof as the rest of the Death Eaters as to the true scope of Hermione’s relationship with the Dark Lord. Hermione herself was a little aloof, if she was being perfectly honest with herself. Toying with her amethyst, she allowed her mind to wander, knowing that any punishments that might have been being meted out were far beyond her reach, secure as she was in her gilded cage. 

Voldemort’s place in her life was very complex. He terrified her, she had no problem admitting that to herself, but at the same time he had become her only safe haven after the months he had taken to break her, slowly, making her regret every syllable of the offer that she had shouted across the ballroom the day that Harry died. He had not been so predictable as to lock her in a dark cell, isolated for months, to wait for the day she would be so starved of human contact, so broken in her spirit that she would latch onto him simply out of desperation. That would've been a much less painful way to craft the witch she was today. Instead, Voldemort refused to leave her alone for even a minute for the first months she was his captive. He encouraged her to feed her rage, her hatred of him, and Hermione hadn't realized the trap of it until it was too late. After the first three months of the Dark Lord’s constant presence, he withdrew from her for weeks at a time. At first she was relieved, finding that she enjoyed Severus’ silent companionship and even in the strict rules that governed her lessons with Narcissa. However, she began to grow impatient with her limited interactions with Voldemort, her temper often getting the better of her and ruining their short meetings. 

He moved to the next step of recreating her the day he found her asleep in his study, having finished her research on an insidious version of the Imperius that had been used by a Babylonian race to encourage willing human sacrifice and being anxious to present her findings to him. He woke her with his trademark Crucio, sneering all the while at her disgusting desire to please him, throwing her carefully crafted notes in the blazing fireplace, not even bothering to read them. As her body shook from the curse, he cast it again and again, the white hot pain blinding her to anything else. Hermione knew that the pain was all in her mind, knew that the curse worked by overstimulating the pain receptors in her brain, not by any physical damage, but for the first time in her life she doubted her not inconsiderable knowledge. Although she knew the pain wasn't real, she couldn't stop her limbs from stiffening, stop the screams tearing from her mouth, stem the flood of tears pouring from her eyes. 

Just when she couldn't remember a time before the agony, there was a flicker of something else. A counterpoint to the exquisite pain that she had endured. As the flicker grew into a spark, she found she could open her eyes. The shock of finding Voldemort's mouth on her breast, his head bent low over her still trembling body, forced the air from her lungs. He smiled at her, the warm expression chilling her to the bone. He took a nipple in his mouth, teasing it to a stiff point before trailing a hand down her bare stomach. Hermione didn't know what had happened to her robes, but she found that she couldn't be arsed to care. He continued to ravish her breasts, until she was a writhing mess below him. He kissed his way down her body, his newly restored hair glinting in the firelight, before he slowly ran his tongue across her sex, her body arching from the floor at the contact. No one had ever before kissed her there, and Hermione’s racing brain came to a screeching halt as she tried to catalogue the sensations. He continued his ministrations, reaching a pale hand up to toy with her breasts, and Hermione cried out as she came, her voice raw from her earlier screams. That was the night he had introduced her to pleasurable pain. He upped the stakes every night for weeks, leaving her chasing the high that only he could provide her. One night, as she entered his room for her nightly lesson, there was another wizard there. The war had not been kind to Cormac. Too cowardly to fight for the Light, too weak to fight for the Dark, he had merely existed, turning a blind eye to the sufferings of others that was occurring all around him. That casual indifference had led him to that night, sitting in an armchair across from the Dark Lord. 

Hermione stopped short as she entered the room, not expecting to encounter anyone else, much less him. 

“Ah, my Pet!” Voldemort had greeted, rising from his own chair to press a whispery kiss on her cheek. “Are you ready for your lesson?”

“Yes, My Lord,” Hermione replied, a question in her tone. 

“I believe you know Cormac?” He questioned, gesturing to the wizard as he also stood, crossing the room to take Hermione’s hand. Unable to suppress the shudder that ran through her as he pressed his lips to the back of her outstretched hand, the manners Narcissa had beaten into her surfacing even now, she raised her eyes to meet the crimson ones of the Dark Lord. 

He knew of her feelings for the wizard, knew every disgusting moment she had spent in his presence, her years at Hogwarts and their necessary dips into the Darkness a point of great pride to him. Resisting the urge to wipe the imprint of his lips off of her hand, she waited, knowing that while it wasn't the lesson she had arrived expecting, Voldemort never did anything without reason. 

“Cormac has agreed to act as a teaching aid this evening, Ms. Granger, isn't that fortuitous?” The Dark Lord said, an odd note of what could only be described as glee filling his voice as he began to walk towards her.

When Hermione still said nothing, he leveled a glare at her across the unsuspecting wizard’s head. 

“I said, isn't that foruitious?” he repeated, a hint of warning in his tone.

“Yes My Lord,” Hermione replied woodenly, fixing her eyes on Cormac’s curly haired mop. “Thank you for your assistance, Cormac.”

Pleasantries dispensed with, Voldemort came to rest before Hermione. 

“Withdraw your wand, Pet,” he said, eyes focused solely on her. “We shall be beginning momentarily.”

She fumbled slightly as she pulled her wand from the pocket of her robes, the pockets having been designed for trinkets such as lip gloss, not the length of her vine wand. Holding it loosely between her fingers, she gazed impassively at Voldemort, mirth dancing in his red eyes.

“Spells are all about intent, my dear, no matter the basis. Healing spells have no effect if the caster doesn't truly desire the afflicted to recover, and blood boiling spells will simply tickle if there is insufficient wrath behind them. Tonight we will learn about crafting the correct desire ensure our spells always have the proper outcome. Let us begin.”

Hermione was quite unprepared to have Voldemort in her mind, rifling through the organized memories she stored there. She patiently waited for him to find what he was searching for, knowing from experience attempting to help or hinder would only lead to a headache. She found herself thrust into a series of snippets of memories from the weeks after the Christmas party, Cormac's retelling of his stolen kiss growing more grotesque with each repeating. He withdrew from her mind as Hermione remembered being forced from the library by the nasty remarks of a group sixth year Ravenclaws, calling her a foolish slag. Hermione’s hair was bristling with annoyance as she looked at the brawny wizard before her. 

“There it issss,” Voldemort hissed in appreciation. “Feel that itch, Hermione? That desire to knock this oaf down a peg or two?”

“Oi!” Cormac said speaking for the first time since she entered the room. “I never did anything to you!”

“I do believe he has forgotten the lies he spread about you, Pet. The slanderous gossip he spewed in his wake after your little snog. Shall we remind him?” Voldemort grinned, the expression eerie on his still slightly reptilian face. 

Cormac paled, realizing the sticky wicket he know found himself snared in. 

“What would you have me do, My Lord?” Hermione questioned, an innocent look on her face. 

“Whatever you desire, my pet,” he replied, his voice tender. 

“Are you absolutely sure about that?” She asked, raising an eyebrow in a gesture clearly borne of the time she had spent in the company of a certain potions master. 

“Nothing would please me more,” Voldemort smiled, taking a step back from the pair. 

Walking up to Cormac, Hermione let her thoughts wander over how she felt the night he had forced his wretched tongue down her throat, had ran his hands over her blessedly clothed breasts, the way he had sulked when she shoved her way free of him and stormed out of the party. Coming to a stop before him, she remembered the whispers that had dogged her throughout the castle the weeks after the party, her face reddening with remembered rage as she thought of the names she had been called, the slurs cutting deeper than any xenophobic drivel Malfoy had ever been able to lob her way. 

Raising her wand, and chuckling softly as Cormac flinched, she looked back over her should one last time at Voldemort. He nodded at her, granting his permission for what she was about to do. 

“Obliviate.” She murmured, the wizard slumping as she forcefully erased the memory of his assault from his mind. He stumbled into the chair, his eyes unfocused as Hermione turned placidly back to face Voldemort. 

His face was almost humorous in its mixture of rage and confusion, and Hermione allowed a smile to quirk her lips. 

“Did I do something to displease you, My Lord?” She questioned softly, unable to keep the mirth from her tone. “You did instruct me to do as I wished, did you not? Did I misinterpret your command?”

Voldemort glowered down at her, seeming unable to put his rage to words. 

“I see,” she said, lifting his glass of firewhiskey to her lips and taking a small sip. Wincing at the burn, she continued. “Did you think I would be so overcome with anger at the sight of this insignificant fucking idiot that I would lose myself and, then what? Crucio him for the pain he caused me? He is nothing to me, beyond a foolhardy, cowardly little lion. He is even less than that now that he will never remember the feel of my lips on his, or the shape of my breasts beneath his hands. You would've had better luck with that disgusting pink cunt.”

Turning away from him slightly, she looked down at Cormac, the confusion on his face lessening. 

“Hermione?” He asked, his eyes still slightly unfocused. 

“Thank you for your time, Cormac,” she said in a clipped tone. “You may go.”

As the wizard stood to leave, paling at the sight of the Dark Lord, now almost incandescent with rage, he turned to Hermione. 

“It was nice to see you-” he began, before a bright green light filled the room. He fell to the floor at Hermione’s feet, a disgusted sigh slipping from her lips. 

“Temper, temper,” she chided, setting down the cut crystal as Nagini slithered in for the unexpected treat.

She fell to the floor beside Cormac’s lifeless body as the white hot pain of a Crucio filled her. Her eyes intent on Voldemort, she watched through tears as he raged, channeling the emotion into the spell. When he finally broke it, breath heaving with the effort, she forced air back into her lungs, pleased that she hadn't screamed and not surprised to feel her arousal start to build, operant conditioning being what it was. Forcing the trembling in her limbs to cease, she pushed herself to her feet as Voldemort turned to leave the room. Gathering her scattered magic, and embracing the darkness pricking through for the first time, she spoke as she aimed her wand.

“Crucio.”

It was barely more than a whisper, her body aching with the effort, but she was pleased to see she had hit her mark as Voldemort fell to his knees, struck by the dark curse for the first time in decades, if ever. She held the curse on him, marinating in her rage at his manipulations, his now successful attempts to sway her to the Dark, her thoughts drifting to the years she spent as a pawn in the hands of another, just as powerful, wizard. At the thought of Dumbledore, another wave of Darkness rushed through her, her head reeling, strengthening the curse before bringing her to her knees. As she fell, the curse broke, and Hermione was surprised to see the maniacal grin back on Voldemort's face. He crawled to her, gathering her in his arms, blood trickling down his chin from where he had bitten his lip in pain.

“My Lutea,” he crooned as he cradled her in his arms. “My magnificent Lutea, how you please me!”

He brushed the hair back from her face before bending to kiss her, the Darkness still simmering inside her boiling over at his touch. Hermione was suddenly overcome with lust, darker and more potent than any before, and she clutched at him, her nails digging into the back of his neck. The residue of the curse on her magic felt comfortable, like a well placed patch on a much loved sweater. Obvious when one knew where to look, but serving only to strengthen the garment and give it new life. She could feel the after effects humming through her blood, and after having exhausted every book in the Manor on the subject, as well as her failed attempts at similar spells on sawdust dummies in the Room of Requirement, she knew that this was only a taste of what was to come. Her know it all brain was buzzing to try it's skill at some choice curses she had read about, while her body was demanding she do something about the throbbing in her loins. Deciding to leave the former for another day, she wrapped her legs around Voldemort as he pressed her to the hardwood, intent of chasing the pleasure that was here and now.

Hermione startled at the tea tray that appeared at her elbow, the motion knocking her notes to the floor. She Summoned them back to her, smiling at the aroma wafting up to her. Severus’ blend. As she knew he never allow the elves to touch it, she took it for the message of well being that it was. He may be partaking of his own cup of tea alongside her, Voldemort's rage at his disobedience had been too great to ignore, but wherever he was he was still alive to scold her for her loose lips. Her smile grew into a grin as she spotted the rose blossom that adorned her tray, knowing it had been broken from the bush where she and Finn has shared their first kiss. Bringing the bloom to her nose, she inhaled, allowing herself to be carried away to that memory again. Content in her knowledge that both wizards would be relatively unharmed when she was released, she took her tea tray to bed with her, finding herself suddenly exhausted.


	12. Anxiety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for my absence! I've been sick and my Muse overdosed on NyQuil. I'm back, but uodates may slow to once a week. As a reward for your patience, here is an extra long chapter! Trigger warning for those of you who may suffer panic attacks.

Monday morning, Hermione woke to the sound of Jilly bustling around the room, gathering her clothes and straightening her desk. She sat up quickly, wincing at the pain lingering in her spine, but choose to ignore it as she slid out of bed and rushed to the tiny elf, bending down and wrapping her arms around her. 

“Jilly!” she cried, delighted not only to see her again, but also because the sight of the elf meant that her punishment was over. She squeezed her tightly, letting up only when the elf let out a squeak. 

“Jilly is being very happy to see you, Missy ‘Mione,” she said, when Hermione released her, a smile contorting her face. “Missy ‘Mione should be never making the Dark Lord mad again. Jilly was very mad at the Dark Lord for keeping her away and she had to iron her hands for thinking bad thoughts.” Jilly held up her small hands, bandages tucked around them haphazardly. 

“What did I tell you about punishing yourself, Jilly!” Hermione scolded, rising from the floor and retrieving the burn paste from the bathroom. She knelt once again in front of the elf, smiling at the simple cotton dress she wore. Smoothing the paste onto her hands, she cringed at the ugly red weeping sores that were uncovered when she removed the wrapping. She hummed under her breath as she worked, a nonsensical rhyme she remembered from nursery school, but that Jilly thought was lovely. Hermione finished rewrapping Jilly’s hands and took a closer look at her dress before she stood back up. She let out a giggle when she realized that Jilly had raided the attic again and had dressed herself in a child’s nightgown. Impulsively hugging the elf again, she held out her hand after regaining her feet.

Jilly looked up at her, confused, before giving her a gentle low-five.

“My wand, Jilly,” Hermione smiled.

“Jilly nots be giving Missy ‘Mione’s wand back. The Dark Lord says Missy “Mione needs to be asking for it back at breakfast,” Jilly said, her eyes narrowing. “Jilly always telling Missy ‘Mione not to be bad. Maybe Missy ‘Mione likes to be in trouble.”

“Jilly!” Hermione snapped, annoyed that she would have to grovel before the brethren and not interested in being lectured by a house elf. “I wasn’t bad. I simply forgot the rules.”

“Thems being the same thing, Jilly thinks,” the elf muttered before pulling open the curtains and bathing the room in early morning light.

Hermione blinked, her eyes watering in the glare. She gazed out over the grounds, forgetting her annoyance in the face of the splendor outside her window. The dew sparkled on the sweeping lawn and where it caught on spiderwebs it dazzled like a collar of diamonds. She took a deep breath, willing her annoyance to fade. When she was in control of herself again, she turned back to where Jilly was fluffing the pillows with a little too much enthusiasm. 

“I apologize, Jilly. You are always looking out for me, and I forget how much my punishments hurt you when My Lord keeps you from me. Can you forgive me?” Hermione asked softly.

“Jilly can never stay mad at Missy ‘Mione,” the elf said, “even when it might help Missy ‘Mione to learn her lessons.” Hermione shook her head before gathering her up in another quick hug, and then set her gently back down on her feet.

Walking into the closet, she selected her typical workday attire. A simple pair of charcoal gray slacks, a white oxford, and a set of robes to go over the top. She chose her navy blue work robes, and emerged from the closet fully dressed. She sat down at her dressing table with a slightly audible plop, and caught Jilly’s eye in the mirror.

“Would you like to do my hair today, Jilly?” Hermione asked, knowing the request would go much farther to express her sincerity to the elf than her words ever could. As expected, Jilly lit up, practically vibrating in her excitement. She came to stand behind Hermione and raised her hands to begin the intricate spell work that Hermione’s thick and unruly hair required.

A short time later, Hermione made her way down the stairs. Her dragonhide boots made almost no sound as she entered the dining room, the room looking no less elegant with the drapes flung open and sunlight streaming in, the crystal vases catching the light and reflecting tiny rainbows on the green walls. There were no flowers this morning, the scents in the air were tea and bacon, and Hermione’s stomach growled after her weekend of convalescent fare. At the noise, several heads turned to her, and she bit back a groan when she noticed how full the room was. Voldemort clearly wanted this to be a public punishment, as he would normally never stomach this many people in his home at eight o’clock in the morning, although Hermione wasn’t sure how many of those assembled knew that she had been effectively grounded all weekend. She glanced over the witches and wizards eating their breakfast and talking softly, careful to make eye contact with none of them. As her gaze made it to the head of the table, she saw Voldemort’s eyes on her, a smile curling his lip. This was going to be quite embarrassing, then. Making her way to him, keeping her eyes steadfastly on the floor, she stopped at his left elbow, behind the chair that had been left open for her. 

“Good morning, My Lord. I hope you slept well?” she asked, her voice clear but her head still bowed.

“Good morning Lutea,” he said, his smile widening. “I slept quite well, thank you. I fear I cannot say the same for all of us this morning.”

“I slept quite well, My Lord,” Hermione replied, reaching for her chair to take her seat.

“He means me, Princess,” Severus drawled from his place at Voldemort’s right hand. Hermione gasped, bringing a hand to her lips at the sight of her Potions Master. His left eye was blackened, and he had a clear imprint of his teeth below his bottom lip, as though he had been attempting to keep himself from screaming. As she sat down in her chair, the hand holding his teacup trembled, and Hermione knew she hadn’t been the only one punished that weekend.

“Severus,” she breathed, sick to her stomach. This was her fault. She goaded him, tempted him, all because she was too proud to go to the Dark Lord with her needs, and this was the result. She knew that this would be the result, but she was too selfish to think of anyone but herself. She started to peer down the table, hoping to see if Finn was similarly afflicted, but glanced back at Severus as the wizard cleared his throat. He caught her eye and shook his head slightly, and Hermione sat back in her chair with a soft harumph. 

The elves brought her a plate of eggs and bacon, and she settled in to quietly eat her breakfast. The meal was awkward, conversation stilted as her fellow diners finished their meals but clearly had been instructed to remain behind. Glancing subtly down the table, she was pleased to see Finn sitting, unharmed, beside Draco, still chatting animatedly with Luna, both ignoring the silence that was creeping across the table. He looked up at her, and Hermione’s heart melted at the smile that split his face. Hermione gazed at him hungrily, her stomach clenching at the lust that filled his eyes. Severus cleared his throat again, and Hermione leveled a glare at him, resisting the urge to stick out her tongue. She ate her breakfast slowly, refusing to rise to the Dark Lord’s bait. When she took a leisurely sip from her third cup of tea, her breakfast Vanished with a snap of the Dark Lord’s fingers. She leaned back in her chair and turned to Voldemort.

“Well that was uncalled for,” she said, crossing her arms. 

An amused snort sounded from somewhere down the table, but Hermione couldn’t be bothered to see where it came from.

“As much as you may enjoy playing with fire, Lutea, our friends have places to be,” the Dark Lord said. “Feel free to ask Severus what happens to those who push their luck with me.”

Hermione snorted, rolling her eyes at Narcissa's soft tutting. 

“Do be honest, you know I goaded him into it. There was no need to go to those lengths, My Lord,” she sniffed, lifting her nose in the air. “If you were truly so angry you should’ve just taken it out on me, I’ve already admitted fault. It hardly seems fair that all I got was a little torture, a few orgasms and being grounded to my room while Severus looks like he went a round or two with a Occamy.”

Several of those seated chuckled as Voldemort withdrew Hermione’s wand from his robes. 

“I would hardly call 3 rounds of Crucio a little torture, Pet, but I could even the score, if you like?” he drawled, twirling her vine wand in his long fingers.

“If that would please you, My Lord,” she said, looking him in the eye. “I will not object to further punishment if you deem it necessary.”

‘Why can’t you always be this pleasant, Lutea?” Voldemort asked, still toying with her wand. 

“You wouldn’t find me nearly as interesting, My Lord,” she replied truthfully, a slight smile on her face.

“Yes, life would be positively mundane without you,” Severus intoned, waving his wand across his face, healing his wounds with a completely steady hand before winking at the thunderstruck look on Hermione’s face. “Our punishments had more in common than you may think, Ms. Granger.”

The Dark Lord laughed aloud, the sound startling many of those gathered. 

“Would you like your wand back, Lutea?” he asked, his voice sweet as a sugar quill.

“Yes, My Lord,” Hermione replied simply.

“Shall we share your news first?” he asked, before continuing, not waiting for her answer. “Would anyone care to guess the last spell cast by this wand, before Ms. Granger found herself, in her own words, grounded?”

Hermione felt her face heating in annoyance as suggestions were called out up and down the table. Narcissa’s suggested alteration spell had Hermione second guessing her decision to eat such a large breakfast, while Alecto’s sneered contribution of a book mending curse almost made her chuckle. Sending a wandless pinching hex at Antonin when he guessed a powerful lust spell of his own invention while making a crude gesture with his hands and smirking at Finn when he added a hex of his own, she paled when Voldemort pulled Lupin’s collar from his robe. 

“Oh, it’s a shame you had to kill him, Hermione. His wolf was devoted to you,” Luna said casually, snagging a strawberry from Draco’s plate while he spoke over her head with Finn.

Hermione smiled thinly, nodding to Luna, rolling her eyes again as Bella clapped her hands delightedly. She wasn’t ashamed of killing Lupin, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be praised like a child for it. For Merlin’s sake, it wasn’t even much of an accomplishment, it was pity more than anything else. Everyone who had sat at that table had done at least as much, if not much more, in the service of their Lord.

“It was a problem,” Hermione stated simply. “I’m afraid he overstayed his welcome.”

“Seeing as you no longer have a pet to amuse us with, if you would like your wand back, Lutea, perhaps you can beg for it.”

She stared at him with burning eyes as those around the table tittered, clenching her small hands into fists as she remained still.

“Careful, Ms. Granger,” the Dark Lord growled, setting her wand on the table before standing over her, putting a hand in the casual updo Jilly had crafted and closing his fingers.

She said nothing, continuing to stare dully at the tabletop.

Voldemort pulled on her hair roughly, pulling her out of her chair and forcing her to the floor. She yanked out of his grip before kneeling at his feet, tilting her head back to peer up at his face.

“May I please have my wand back, My Lord?” she asked, her voice stiff.

“Such passion! Do you truly expect me to believe you have learned your lesson, Ms. Granger?” he countered, the words clipped.

She glared at Alecto as the witch laughed, gritting her teeth against the sting of a mild burning hex striking her knees. She looked up at Voldemort, meeting his gaze and raising an eyebrow. He met her gaze with a stern expression, but she could see the amusement pulling at his lips.

“I am truly sorry, My Lord. You take care of all my needs, whatever they may be, but I struggle to rid myself of my pride and ask for your assistance. I should never need to take the counsel of another before your own, as you have only my best interests in mind, but I continue to seek the advice of others in lieu of yours, knowing that it is an insult to you. I shall endeavor to rise to your expectations of me in the future, and I willingly submit myself to your hand if I fail,” she said, her voice steady.

“Very good,” he praised, holding her wand over her head. “I think you have learned your lesson. Let’s see if you can beg as prettily as you can apologize.” He wiggled the wand slightly. “Sit pretty, pet.”

Hermione sucked in a breath as the memory of her teasing Lupin flitted across her mind. Voldemort’s eyes narrowed as he watched the memory with her, and Hermione knew that as pleased as he was that she had shown the initiative to end Lupin’s life, he was disappointed in the weakness she showed by giving him a gracious end. Hoping to appease him, and finally get to the lab, she sat up on her knees without complaint, tucking her hands against her chest. 

“Please, My Lord,” she begged, turning her doe like eyes on him. “May I please have my wand back?”

Delighted laughter spilled out down the table as Voldemort cupped his hand under her chin brushed his fingers against her cheek, feeling the heat that gathered there as a result of her public shaming, his other hand returning her wand.

“What a pretty view,” he teased, squeezing her neck lightly in warning. “Have a productive day, Lutea. I shall see you tonight.”

With that, he waved his hand, indicating to those seated that the show was over. Chatter filled the room again as everyone got to their feet and began to head off to whatever plans they had for the day.

Hermione started to get to her feet, startling as a pair of boots appeared right in front of her face. Looking up, she grinned as she saw Finn towering over her.

“I’m not sure I would like to help you up,” he said, crossing his arms across his broad chest. “I could get quite used to having you on your knees, Hermione.”

Hermione flushed, both at the innuendo and at Finn’s casual use of her name. Sitting back on her heels, she wiped her hands on her robes and peered up at him, a serious look on her face.

“I’m not sure you have what it takes to keep me here, Master Rowle,” she replied, Finn letting out a ragged breath at the title as she eyed him up and down skeptically. His robes were unbuttoned, and Hermione found herself thanking Crice for whoever invented wool trousers. The slim cut of the black fabric defined Finn’s muscular legs, and she found her eyes trailing up his form, taking in his cornflower blue pressed collared shirt, smirking at his vanity, knowing he wore it to enhance the already intense blue of his eyes. She gazed into them now, her smirk growing more heated. “You must understand that it would require quite the firm hand. I’ve been told I am an unnecessarily wilful and obstinate brat who is unable to follow even the simplest of instructions.” She paused to shoot a glare at Severus, who laughed aloud at her words. “Do you think you are up to the task?”

Wrapping a hand around her neck, he pulled her to her feet, setting her gently back on her two feet before tucking her arm into his.

“Be careful, witch,” he said, as they began to walk out of the dining room towards the entry parlor, “I would hate to have to teach you a lesson so quickly on the heels of your last one. Although My Lord is quite correct, you do look quite lovely when you’re asking please so sweetly.”

Swatting his arm as they entered the entry parlor, he pulled her to the side as they waited for the others to go ahead through the fireplace. She pulled her arm free and began to fuss with her hair, having noticed her reflection in one of the glass fronted cabinets that lined the room. She sighed as her hair began to actively fight back, wrapping around her wrist as she attempted to pin it up. She felt Finn’s long fingers close around her wrist, tugging gently to free her. She was surprised when she felt him begin to smooth her hair away from her face, even more so when he began to braid her long thick locks with movements that spoke of familiarity with the task. When he reached the end of the plait, he secured it with a simple sticking spell before lifting the braid and tickling her nose with it.

“Thank you,” she laughed, rubbing her nose to keep from sneezing. “Where did you learn to braid?”

“Laetitia preferred her hair braided before we would play. I learned to do it for her to save time,” Finn shrugged, reaching to accept the Floo powder from Antonin roughly, still annoyed at his earlier crudeness.

Hermione thought back to his former fiance, a Pureblood witch who had been known for her cruelty. They hadn't had much interaction before she had been found in the Moors outside of Rowle House, her shattered limbs curled grotesquely around the broken body of Sampson Eldridge, her half blood lover. Finn had discovered her affair one evening after returning home from a raid, and in his rage had killed them both. He had borne his punishment with grace, and while Voldemort had been quite put out with him for it, even he had admired the skill with which Finn had handled the matter, praising him for his creativity as he held him under his trademark Crucio.

Hermione found herself intrigued by Finn's choice of words, and wondered if he was forceful in the bedroom as he was on the battlefield. Her mind hummed with possibilities as she stepped up to the fireplace, the images it was offering simply mouthwatering.

“Have a wonderful day, Hermione,” Finn said softly, catching her chin in his hand.

“You as well, Finn,” she replied, nuzzling into his simple embrace. “Be a dear and embellish the tale of how I spent my weekend, if you please. I would hate to disappoint my fawning public.”

Laughing, Finn glanced furtively around the room, his grin morphing into a smirk when he realized they were alone, save for Luna, Draco and a bored looking Severus, the latter waiting for Hermione to head to the lab so they could start a new week of her Mastery training and Luna whispering what Hermione was quite sure weren't sweet nothings into Draco's ear, if the devilish look on his face was any indication. Finn leaned down over her, drawing her into his arms and she shivered at the reminder of her petite frame as he overwhelmed her, tilting her head up to smile at him. He claimed her lips in a sweet kiss, the dark pleasures it hinted at soon sending her reeling. He snogged her thoroughly when he felt her shiver, leaving her breathless and quite lost to reality until Severus cleared his throat impatiently. 

“You might want to see a healer for that, Severus,” Hermione snapped irritably, the heat in her words undermined by their gasping delivery. “I would hate for you to be felled by a simple summer cold before I could complete my studies. One can never be too careful as they age, your immune system may not be able to take the strain.”

Unperturbed, Severus pushed himself off the wall and made his way to the Floo. 

“Enjoy yourself now, princess,” he intoned, a threat in his eyes. “It's Master Snape once we enter the lab.”

“Yes sir,” she said, sounding chasented, the fire in her eyes undermining her sincerity, “but as we are still in my home I shall relish in every opportunity to remind you of your mortality.”

Finn recaptured her lips before she could further bait the taciturn Slytherin, keeping his kiss relatively chaste this time around. 

“I shall see you this evening,” he smiled down at her, nudging her toward the roaring fire. 

Pausing to watch him do up the fastenings on his robes, Hermione turned to the flames, tossing in the powder and calling out “Research Laboratory, Hogwarts School,” before stepping in and letting the green flames whisk her away. She saw Severus step to Finn as she was whirled away, the older wizard placing a hand on the tall man's shoulder.

The week flowed smoothly from there, Hermione finding herself once again in her usual routine of Potions Mastery training with Severus during the day and evenings spent working on research for the Dark Lord. Finn had joined them twice for dinner, and although Voldemort had resumed their nightly tradition of solitary walks in the garden to allow her to discuss her day with him, she did enjoy sitting next to Finn at dinner. He kissed her goodbye after their first dinner,a bemused Voldemort waiting outside, but she had been dismayed to see that he had already gone home before Hermione and the Dark Lord returned from their walk on Wednesday. Hermione found herself dreading her Thursday visit to the students of Pretennike, and she wished that she could talk to him before bed. She bid Voldemort goodnight and headed to her rooms, sitting down before the fire with a cup of tea. Her guilt at not being there the day of the attack felt like a literal weight on her chest. It had been building all week, and she wasn't sure how she could face the students tomorrow. She had sworn to protect the innocent children, had spent time getting to know them, and the only time she had ever missed her weekly visit they had been attacked. Would the children even want to see her? She thought of sweet little Pieter, of his impish little face, covered in the ice cream sundaes they had enjoyed the last time she visited, and her heart broke a little more. He and Prianka had been inseparable, and their love for each other had always brought a smile to her face. 

Drawing a deep breath, she tried to slow her pounding heart, it felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. Her mind began racing, her mental voice berating her for her neglect of the children, a malicious hiss telling her that bit was all her fault. If she hadn't created the school there would've been no target for the Order to attack. Those children would be able to sleep without fear and Prianka would still be alive. Why hadn't she protected them? She had been blissfully studying muggle neurology, of all the damned things, and those children had been running for their lives. The teacup fell out of her hand and shattered on the wood floor as she pictured the scene, unarmed children running and screaming as curses flew around them. Screams filled her ears as she pulled at her robes, desperate to take a breath. She thought suddenly of sweet Kerrie Beth, the Ravenclaw who had been so proud to help the students, so eager to teach them their numbers and letters. Hermione had personally interviewed the witch, and assuring her that while she might find her new duties overwhelming at times, that she would be a wonderful teacher. She wasn't equipped for an attack, the members of the Order were ruthless in battle. She imagined Kerrie Beth lying in the dirt, bleeding, wondering where Hermione was now, why she had abandoned them in their most dire hour. All that destruction, all because she was too busy with her precious books to help them when they needed her. Jilly popped in to clean up the mess and gasped when she saw Hermione, crouched on the floor in front of her armchair, screaming and pulling out her hair.  
“It's all my fault! I should've been there! It should've been me!” She cried, one hand pulling free from her hair to beat on the seat of the chair. 

“Missy 'Mione!” Jilly cried, her bulging eyes filling with tears at the sight of her Mistress in so much pain. “Missy 'Mione needs to be calm!”

“Why haven't I gone to see them? Why have I waited? I'm a coward!” Hermione wailed, gasping as she suddenly couldn't breathe. The books on the shelf rattled violently, but were kept secure for the moment in their Warded shelves.

She ripped at her robes, desperate for air, eyes watering as she tried to draw in a breath. Jilly approached her cautiously, fear on her small face.

Hermione fell to her hands and knees, gasping, her hand landing on one of the pieces of porcelain that littered the floor. Blood began to pour out of the small wound as she continued to fight to force air into her lungs. Her eyes fell to the floor, and she spotted the pool of blood that was forming under her hand. Her panic grew as she pictured the blood pooling on the playground, the screaming in her ears reaching fever pitch. Her mind cleared slightly when her brain finally registered the pain in her palm and she lifted her small hand, looking at the wound curiously. She toyed with the small shards, inhaling sharply as the sharp pains gave her mind something else to focus on. Using her thumb, she pressed forcefully on the wound, relishing the clarity in her mind that accompanied the sting. She pressed again, harder, and the resulting pain caused her vision to blur, the light headedness clearing her mind of everything else. She sat back, watching the blood begin to flow again as the runes on her chest began to force the foreign pieces out, and suddenly her mind was filled with the sounds of crying children again. She saw the colorful flashes of dark curses flying around them as they tried desperately to find safety, and she began to hyperventilate again. She forced the shards back into her palm, sighing in relief as her mental anguish quieted. Suddenly her head snapped back, confusion reigning for a split second before the accompanying pain blossomed on her right cheek. She looked up, shocked, as Jilly stood before her with her hands on her hips. Had Jilly just slapped her? Suddenly Hermione felt her anger rise, threatening to engulf her like it did with Ron in the dungeons. Jilly took a step back at the fire in Hermione’s eyes and audibly gulped at the Darkness filling the room. 

“M-m-missy needs to be g-g-getting control,” Jilly stammered, her eyes beginning to fill with fear. “Missy 'Mione shouldn't be hurting herself. It's not being ok.”

Hermione came to her feet, rage swimming across her vision as her mind once again filled with the visions of death and destruction. She began to advance on Jilly, raising her wand just as the door slammed open, and the echoing boom had Hermione to whirling to see who dared to interrupt her. 

“That is enough, Lutea,” Voldemort said, his voice quiet. 

Hermione spat at him, narrowing her eyes.

“Mind your business, you fucking sociopath,” she snarled, “This is all your fault!”

“Enough,” he said, his voice vibrating with power.

Hermione stilled at the command in his tone, her hands beginning to shake as the anger fled her mind and her imagined playground scene filled her mind again. Voldemort walked across the room to stand in front of her, placing a hand on her chin and forcing her to look into his eyes. His red eyes bored deep into hers, observing the scenes playing out over and over, like a mobius strip of heartbreak. 

“Would it help to see what truly happened?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “Would that help you cease this infernal racket and get some sleep?”

She blinked at him, and he took that as agreement, her eyes opening wider as he forced images into her mind. She watched as children and teachers dodged the colorful spells, Prianka lying on the ground, her limbs bent at odd angles as though she had been tossed like a ragdoll, and Hermione felt herself start to panic again. As more of The Order fighters came into view, she watched as the teachers poured out of the school, wands raised and determined fury on their faces. The older students pushed the younger ones behind them as they backed into the safety of the broom shed, Hermione’s heart breaking as she saw the fear on their small faces. There was an explosion behind her and she turned, just in time to see the oak tree fall, it’s immense weight crushing the stone wall that surrounded the school, Kerrie Beth disappearing from view as the branches thudded to the ground, inches away from a group of five year olds. Hermione cried out, her breath racing again, when the Death Eaters appeared suddenly, the thick black smoke of their Apparition adding to the eerie sight. The members of The Order didn’t stick around long after that, the Death Eaters striking with a vengeance and accuracy that they weren’t able to match. Voldemort pulled them out of the memory shortly after the last wizard disappeared from view, Greg and Luna pulling off their masks and rushing to the terrified children while the others remained masked and split into practised groups, tending to the wounded and Stupfying the wounded survivors. 

Hermione looked at Voldemort, tears shining in her eyes. 

“Why would you show me that? What is wrong with you?” she burst out, her face turning red as she sniffled, beginning to cry again.

“Calm yourself, Ms. Granger,” he said, settling in his arm chair and gesturing to Jilly, who brought him a Conjured glass of Firewhiskey and backed away, her eyes wary as they darted between the Dark Lord and her Mistress. “What did you see in the Vigalirus memory?” He asked, sipping his drink and looking at the witch who still stood in the middle of the room.

“Terror,” she said blankly, her tears running down her face. “Terror and destruction.”

“Interesting. When I viewed it, I saw bravery, courage, and determination, traits that I am quite surprised alluded you. Determination in the teachers who waged battle when they were clearly at a disadvantage, courage in the children who did what they could to protect their weakest peers, and bravery in the sacrifice of a young teacher who threw herself into harm's way to save a group of students from certain death. We cannot change the actions of the past, and we cannot undo the damage that has been done, but if we are unable to find the good in the events of that day we are doomed to repeat it.”

Hermione’s tears trickled to a stop as she stood stunned, processing Voldemort's words as she replayed the events in her mind. He was right. She walked over to her armchair and sat down heavily, her legs giving out just as she reached her seat. She was still guilt-ridden over her absence that day, and ashamed of her cowardice in avoiding the school and it's occupants, but her heart was lighter as she viewed the events through this new lens. She looked up and made eye contact with Voldemort, the wizard nodding as read her thoughts, only needing to see her face rather than delve into her subconscious. He rose from his seat and leaned over her, pressing a kiss to her head. Hermione jumped at the sentimental gesture, and he chuckled softly. 

“Sleep well, Lutea,” he said as he crossed the room, pausing before he reached the door. He turned to her once more before leaving, an indecipherable look on his face. “I shall accompany you tomorrow, in case you need another reminder of what you are fighting for.”


	13. Resolution

Thursday morning dawned in a manner that matched Hermione’s mood perfectly, with skies that were an almost violent grey and thunder crashing ominously in the distance. If she hadn't been so content to wallow in her anxiety she might have laughed at the correlation. Jilly flitted around the room, tending to her usual morning routine as Hermione stood in the closet, staring at her clothes, dreading even making the simple decision that would officially begin her day. Voldemort's uncharacteristic pep talk the night before had helped, but she had awoken before the dawn and her doubts about her welcome had returned, full force. She was no longer plagued by imagined scenes, thanks to the surveillance spell that the Dark Lord had used to show her what really happened, truthfully she was proud of the actions of the teachers and students. In reality, what she felt now was guilt, and her anxiety was in direct response to that emotion. 

Glaring at the innocent robes as though they had encouraged her negligence, she grabbed a set at random, selecting a somber summer dress to wear underneath, and walked out of the closet. She threw the beige robes on the bed, and headed into the bathroom with her dress and underthings to take a shower. She reached in and turned on the water before walking to the sink to brush her teeth. As she scrubbed in a faintly aggressive manner that would've had her parents cringing, she thought over the agenda for the rest of the week. Today was her usual visit to Pretannike, although the Dark Lord would be accompanying her over this morning so that she could spend the full day, rather than just the afternoon, as was her schedule. Severus had graciously given her the day free of her duties, knowing that she would not be able to maintain the high level of focus that were required of her Mastery training. Dinner would be a quiet affair, everyone preparing themselves for the funerals, which would be held the next day, after which the Nott’s were hosting a small luncheon for the families. She would be going to Hogwarts afterward, to complete her tasks for the week and hopefully allow her mind some time to rest from the emotional upheaval the funerals were sure to be

Rinsing her mouth, she slipped out of her nightgown and stepped into the shower, wincing slightly at the scalding temperature before her body adjusted and she felt her tense shoulders begin to relax. She reached for the cleansing potion and began to work it into her scalp, her fingertips massaging the silky liquid into the roots. She sighed as she rinsed, thinking of the depressing event that would occur the next day. She had never attended a funeral in state before, but knowing Narcissa, who she knew that Lucius had asked to plan the event, the whole occasion would be done as tastefully as one could arrange a funeral for a murdered child and her teacher. Finn had procured the day off work, and would be meeting them at Nathair Manor at half nine to accompany her, his letter also stating that he would be bringing his parents. 

Reaching for the comb she kept on the tiled ledge of the shower, Hermione began to comb the thick muggle conditioner through her curls, flinching as she got caught in a tangle while she thought of the less than ideal circumstances under which she would be meeting his parents for the first time. She couldn't remember ever hearing much of the Lord and Lady Rowle, outside of Aldrich's work on the Wizangamot and Narcissa's praise of Everlid’s Spring Luncheon, and she was unsure if she could trust the truth of the anecdote Finn had relayed as they walked in the gardens the week previous. 

She began to wash her body, making sure to keep her hair angled out of the spray to allow the conditioner to do it's work as her thoughts began to ramble down a less stressful trail. Had it really only been less than a week since their first kiss by the roses? She and Finn had been dancing around each other since Yule, five months of stolen glances and clumsy flirting, so it was really no wonder that they had already progressed to the point of her meeting his parents. Although she wasn't sure what to think of joining his family for the very public funeral the next day. 

Making a mental note to ask Narcissa or Draco about the potential implications of such a bold step, she rinsed her hair and body before stepping out of the shower and wrapping a very fluffy towel around herself. She was sure there was some antquidated Pureblood rule about the meaning behind something like that, and while she was hesitant about the result, it was only because she was uninformed, not because she was unwilling to be publicly branded as being in a relationship with Finn. 

Walking into the dining room, Hermione felt her anxiety begin to rise again as she thought of leaving her home. She sat in her usual chair, murmuring a good morning to Voldemort, and was surprised to see a vial of vibrant blue potion sitting next to her teacup, a notecard propped up next to it. She lifted the card, smiling faintly at Severus’ familiar script.

Ms. Granger,

Our Lord has informed me that you are foolishly blaming yourself for the chaos caused by the remnants of the Order. I know from vast experience that I will be unable to talk any sense into your bushy head, so it is my hope that this calming draught will be able to do what I have been unable to do in the almost ten years we have been acquainted. Don't scowl, simply be a good Apprentice and do as your Master commands. You should be proud of your school. Their actions are a credit to you, and I hope you will never again doubt your worth in their eyes. I will see you in the morning.

-Severus

Hermione laughed weakly as she had indeed been scowling at the thought of being scolded by her Master, and dutifully downed the Calming Draught, touched at his thoughtfulness. She felt its effects instantly, and a soft smile rested on her lips as she looked over at Voldemort, who was reading the Prophet with a smirk on his face. 

“Tattling on me, are we?” She asked, reaching for her silverware as she began to tuck into the eggs benedict that was awaiting her.

“Simply keeping your Master apprised of the mental state of his Apprentice. It would be rather cruel for you to continue suffering when there is a means through which to ease it, wouldn't you say?” he replied, turning the page and chuckling at the social reporting. “It seems young Theo had quite the evening.”

Swallowing her mouthful, and welcoming the change in subject, Hermione reached for her teacup as she turned to look at the paper that Voldemort turned her way. In a double page spread, Theo appeared to be dancing his way through the article, his hijinks reported on with glee by an overzealous reporter. She laughed as her eyes fell on the last picture, her tea threatening to reroute itself through her nose. Theo had at some point acquired Blaise and Pansy, and the trio were standing on a bar in Diagon Alley, apparently serenading a not as enthusiastic crowd. The photo loop ended as Pansy fell off the bar, the crowd parting and the look on Pansy's face as she hit the floor was priceless.

“Can I have that when you're finished? That would look lovely framed on my desk,” she said, her laughter subsiding only when Voldemort turned the paper back to himself to continue reading. 

He nodded, smiling dotingly at her, and Hermione resumed her breakfast. She ate silently, thanking Merlin for Snape's draught, as it prevented her from mulling over her worries. She chose instead to think about Finn, wondering what he was doing today. Suddenly, she heard a sneeze and the table shook, her teacup tipping and the contents spilling out over her breakfast. She looked over at the floor by Voldemort's feet, and saw that Ginny was propped up on the table leg, rubbing her nose. She glared at the witch as an elf hurried to replace her breakfast. She waved Tobb off with a wave of her hand, righting her teacup and pouring a fresh cup. She picked up her plate and set it on the floor next to Ginny, her eyes hard as she looked at her fellow Gryffindor. 

“Clean it up,” she commanded, her voice firm. 

Ginny turned up her nose at the order and scoffed under her breath. She sat there, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge Hermione, the ticking of the ornate clock on the sideboard and the soft rustling as Voldemort turned the page the only sounds in the room. Hermione smiled cruelly as she gripped her wand, her mind toying with several delicious possibilities. 

As the clock struck nine, Voldemort cleared his throat, as though to remind Hermione that they had places to be. Deciding on the path of least resistance, she sighed as she said “Imperio,” watching with satisfaction as Ginny knelt and began to eat the mess of eggs, ham, muffin, hollandaise, and tea that filled the plate with her hands. Smirking, Hermione amused herself by lifting and recasting the curse at random, enjoying the fire that would intermittently fill Ginny's eyes before being snuffed out moments later. Just as Ginny began to lift the final bite to her mouth, a glassy expression on her face, Hermione lifted the curse, laughing aloud at the look of rage that filled Ginny's face. The redhead raised her arm as though to launch the food at Hermione and the older witch’s face darkened.

“Crucio.” 

She held the curse on the screaming witch for a few minutes, reveling in the Darkness that pulsed through her veins, the compulsion curse only having been enough to tease her magic, not sate it. She lifted the curse as she finished her tea, turning to Voldemort as he rose from the table. 

“Shall we be off, then?” He asked, folding the paper and choosing not to acknowledge the interaction that had just occurred. 

Nodding her agreement, Hermione rose, taking his offered arm as they turned to leave the room.

“Coming, Ginerva?” He asked casually, and Hermione looked back at the panting witch just in time to see the color drain from her face. 

“M-my Lord?” The witch questioned, her expression clearly displaying her desire to go anywhere but to Pretannike.

“You will be accompanying us this morning.  
I wish for you to view the aftermath of your fire breathing brother’s handiwork,” he replied, confirming Hermione’s suspicion that the arm they had recovered had once belonged to Charlie Weasley.

Ginny looked quite ill as she rose from the floor, the trembling in her limbs causing her no little difficulty. Once she had gained her footing, Hermione and Voldemort resumed their trek to the Floo.

Stepping out of the fireplace at Pretennike, Hermione felt her stomach clench as she looked into the face of Marnie Wilkinson, the Headmistress of the school. The matronly witch had always been a favorite of Hermione's, even from the earliest days of the school, when she was fighting tooth and nail to accomplish anything but was being beaten back by bigotry at every turn. A school for Muggleborn children had been about as welcome as a Blast Ended Skrewt at a dinner party. Marnie had walked up to Hermione after she had left yet another frustrating meeting with the Inner Circle and introduced herself as the Headmistress of a yet to be named children's school. Hermione had instantly felt a kinship with the woman, who looks were an odd mix of Pomona Sprout and Madame Pomfrey. The acquisition of a Headmistress had gone a long way towards softening her detractors arguments, and after the pair had selected a charming Manor house near Fife, there was nothing more to be said. 

The plump older woman folded Hermione into her arms, murmuring nonsense as she sniffled into her chest. She pulled her back the length of her short arms and smiled softly at her.

“None of that, now. The children have been clamoring for you all morning. We dinna tell them you would be spending the day, for if we did we surely never woulda gotten 'em to breakfast,” she said, her soft brogue making Hermione smile as well.

As her words sunk in, she began to smile genuinely, relief filling her chest. 

“They're excited to see me?” She asked, hope filling her voice. 

“Are ya daft, lass? Of course they are! The older kids created a countdown clock in the luncheon hall, make sure ya make a fuss outta it. They're right proud of it. Lit off fireworks this mornin’ as it struck zero, almost caught the drapes ablaze,” the witch chuckled, a doting look on her face. Suddenly she straightened, her gaze looking past Hermione as she became aware of the others in the room.

“My Lord,” she said, bending a knee in a antiquated curtsey that had Hermione biting back a grin. Marnie’s eyes flashed as she saw the witch cowering behind the Dark Lord, Ginny's face still pale as she tried to blend in with a spider fern, the branches wrapping themselves around her shoulders. 

“Come to take a gander at the destruction, aye?” She spat, more venom in her tone than Hermione had ever heard from the stout witch. “Proud of yer brother’s handiwork, are ya?”

Ginny shook her head violently as Voldemort pulled her forward, snapping a branch from the clingy houseplant. 

“I thought Ginerva could use a reminder of the cost of fighting for the Greater Good,” Voldemort said, a gleam in his eye. “I shall take her to the yard, if that's alright with you, Headmistress?” The Dark Lord questioned politely, as he did not need the witch’s permission. He admired the woman, however, and respected her authority within the school. 

'Aye,” she nodded, turning away from the group. 'Before ye go, let me show her our little trophy.” 

She waved her wand toward the low credenza that lined the wall to the right of the Floo. The vases on top slid to the side, creating a gap in the middle. The center of the dark wooden table lifted, and Hermione was reminded of her grandmother's old Singer that had been hidden away in a similar fashion, only revealed when she needed a jumper mended or a Halloween costume sewn. Instead of an iron sewing machine however, a man's arm appeared, the fingers half closed in a fist and the other end a ragged stump. Ginny retched as she looked on her brother’s arm, and Hermione found herself absentmindedly wondering what preservation spells had been used to maintain it. It looked as though the injury had been caused mere moments before, rather than the week she knew it had been. 

She looked over to see Voldemort bent over Ginny, his hand gripping her chin as he spoke in low tones, forcing her to look at the mangled limb. She turned back to Marnie, who still wore a fierce look on her face, and she was taken aback at the woman's likeness in that moment to McGonagall. Making a mental note to visit with her former professor before leaving Hogwarts the next day, she cleared her throat and glanced toward the door. Taking her hint, the Headmistress led the way, the clamor of children able to be heard in the distance as they made their way down the hallway.

Before they they reached the double doors that lead to the luncheon hall, Hermione paused and looked at Marnie. 

“I should've been here, Minnie,” she whispered, unable to bring herself to enter the room. “I'm so sorry that I wasn't here to help.”

“I'm not,” the witch said matter of factly, surprising Hermione. “There's no need for guilt, girl. Iff’n you'da been here I wouldn't ta been needed, now would I? You wouldn't begrudge an old girl a chance to defend her bairns, hmm?”

Hermione smiled a slightly watery smile and shook her head. 

“Now that's that settled, yeah? Let's go cause a ruckus,” the witch grinned, waving her wand to swing wide the double doors. 

There was a moment of shocked silence following the crash before what could only be described as pandemonium broke out. The older children burst into cheers, having the maturity to remain seated, while the younger children were so overcome with joy that they dashed right out of their seats and swarmed the pair. 

Hermione laughed out loud and she was almost crushed under the weight of a dozen pairs of little arms all trying to hug her at once, while the rest tried in ernest to reach her as well. She kissed all the little faces she could reach, delighting in their happiness before she saw little Pieter standing in the back of the clamor. His smile was as wide as any other child's, but Hermione could see the hint of sadness in his small face. She untangled herself from the swarm and began to make her way towards him, keeping a soft smile on her face. When she was about three feet away, she knelt, opening her arms. 

“Pieter,” she started, making it no further before the young boy dashed into her embrace, his arms twining around her neck. Hermione simply held him for a few moments, giving the teachers the time they needed to get the excitable young ones back into their seats. 

When Hermione tried to rise, Pieter clung to her still, and so she simply wrapped an arm around his small waist and stood, walking slowly to the front of the room with Marnie, the warm body pressed against her reminding her of why she was so needed here. She greeted the teachers warmly, thanking them for their bravery the week before. There were a few wet eyes as they watched her holding Pieter, Kerrie Beth’s seat draped with black crepe catching Hermione’s eye as they talked in low tones about the funeral the next day and the graduation ceremony at Hogwarts the week after next, the students having been cleared to attend as per usual. Marnie Conjured a chair for Hermione next to her own and everyone regained their seats just as Lord Voldemort entered the hall, a pale and swaying Ginny behind him. 

Hermione frowned slightly at his decision to bring her into the luncheon hall with the children present, but she trusted that his message had been received loud and clear by the subdued witch.

“Good morning, students,” Voldemort said, his commanding voice carrying out over the crowd. The students chattered excitedly at the sight of the Dark Lord. He usually only attended the first and last day of classes, so this was another unexpected treat for them. “What is this?” He asked, walking over to what appeared to be a cabinet sitting under the school banner. It had obviously been Charmed, and as Hermione looked at the blue wooden frame, she could just make out singe marks from the fireworks Minnie had warned them about. 

An older student, a witch named Moira Trucey, stood proudly from her seat. 

“It is our countdown calendar, My Lord,” she said, her voice shaking only slightly with nerves at addressing the Dark Lord directly. 

“What did it hold?” Voldemort asked, amusement in his tone.

Another student, a boy named Keegan O’Bryan stood from his seat slightly down from Moira. 

“We designed it like an Advent Calendar, My Lord,” he said, flinching only slightly at the Muggle phrasing. “It passed out sweets everyday as a countdown to when Miss Hermione would be here again.”

“Except this morning,” Moira said, a giggle escaping her lips. 

“Yes, we heard all about that,” Hermione said, unable to keep the grin off her face. “Who all helped with the design? Don't be shy, stand up so we can applaud your hard work.”

Three more students stood, and as Hermione lifted her hands from Pieter’s back to clap for the clever students, he stood up from her lap, grinning at her shyly.

“The fireworks were my idea,” he said softly, looking down at his feet. “Prianka loved fireworks, Papa Nott gave us a show every year when we returned home from school.”

Hermione lifted a hand to his small chin and smiled at him gently. 

“I am sure she loved them,” she smiled, a mischievous look coming into her eye. “She probably would've fussed at you for almost burning down the school though!”

Pieter laughed, and several of the teachers startled at the noise, the boy having been so withdrawn for the past week. His parent’s decision to keep him in school had surprised them, but it had obviously been for a good reason as they watched him giggle. 

“She would've been cross with me for sure!” He said, smiling up at Hermione. 

She reached out and hugged him impulsively, and when she released him, she gave him a gentle nudge back to his table. His classmates swarmed him as he sat down, his involvement in the creation of the cabinet having been a well kept secret.

Marnie stood from her seat as Voldemort and Ginny continued to hover in the doorway. The students quieted at once, and she smiled down at all of them.

“It has been a week since a few evil witches and wizards invaded our sanctuary with one goal in mind. When they struck they wanted to create an atmosphere of fear, and one of the founding goals of this school is to preserve in the face of great evil. The brave students and teachers, living and dead, who fought here have empowered this school, far beyond the power of magic. Our world will always honor their sacrifice, but only you will remember what I say here. We can never forget what they did that day. It is for us, the survivors, to be dedicated in their memory to the unfinished work which they who fought sacrificed of themselves to protect. It is for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us – that we highly resolve that Ms. Kerrie Beth and Prianka did not die in vain. This school was built to for the education of youth, and we will not waiver in our purpose. I am proud of all of you, and we will have no classes today, in honor of your bravery. Enjoy the day, be cheerful, that is how we can honor their legacy.”

Applause filled the hall as the students cheered and the teachers clapped slightly more subduedly, some of them still nursing wounds from the battle. Hermione wiped a tear from her eye as Voldemort met her eyes from across the room. She met his gaze, allowing him to access her mind and to see that while she was still saddened by the events of the week previous, she had let go of her guilt. He nodded at her before turning to acknowledge the Headmistress, who had brought the teachers to him. He spoke to each of them briefly, before turning to the still chattering students. 

“I must take my leave,” he announced, a few sounds of disappointment able to be heard over the whispers. “I leave you in the very capable hands of your teachers and Ms. Granger. Try not to start anymore fires, hmm?”

As the student and teachers laughed, he smiled at Hermione before turning to the door, Ginny shadowing his steps. They left quietly, and the teachers began dismissing the children by table, presumably to change out of their uniforms and into their play clothes. When the room emptied, Hermione found herself in conversation with Sampson and Willow Wilkerson, a married couple who taught physical education and mathematics, respectively. They were both muggleborn, and felt deeply indebted to Hermione for her work in bringing the school into existence. They were discussing plans to create a summer school for students about to enter Hogwarts who had been previously home taught, as the students at Pretannike had been consistently outperforming more traditionally taught students, when she felt a tug on her sleeve. 

She turned to see Pieter standing there, a smile on his face. He hugged her again, squeezing her extra tightly. 

“That was from Prianka,” he said, and Hermione bit back tears as she remembered the times she would tease Prianka for hugging her as though she were attempting to squeeze out all the air from her lungs. 

She was saved from replying as Pieter simply walked away, seemingly intent on only passing on a simple message from his lost twin, and Hermione smiled as she watched him get caught up in his usual swarm of rowdy boys. 

The day passed in it's usual merry fashion, full of laughter and mischievous students who got a little too caught up in the naughty feeling of an impromptu holiday. Full to bursting after a lunch that left her nostalgic for her own school days at Hogwarts, Hermione wandered the grounds as the students rested for their quiet hours after lunch. Smiling as she thought of how welcome mandatory rest periods would've been after meals when she herself was in school, she took a deep breath as she prepared to round the corner of the school, knowing that the playground was waiting on the other side.

She took in the sight before her with a breathy exhale. The worst of the damage had been repaired the day after the battle, by the swarms of parents who had descended on the school, determined to comfort their children. The only thing that remained was the crushed stone garden wall, where the tree had fallen, killing Kerrie Beth. The bricks that littered the ground were decorated with flowers, chocolate frogs and the origami animals that Kerrie Beth had taught the students to make in her art classes. Hermione knelt and placed her hand on the wall, her mind quiet as she thought of the sacrifice the teacher had made. She remained there, lost in thought for half an hour. 

When a soft hand landed on her shoulder, she almost jumped out of her skin. Whirling, she pulled her wand out of her sleeve as she half stood.

“Merlin's beard, Luna! You scared the daylights out of me!” She said, scowling playfully at the blonde witch as she raised her hand to her chest. Looking down at her wand, she laughed softly as she tucked it back into her sleeve. 

“I saw you out here and wanted to warn you about the Tree Squeaks. They've been displaced by the loss of their home and are restless. You looked a bit bush-like, standing so still there by the rubble, they might decide to take up residence in your robes. You probably shouldn't have worn brown today,” the witch said solemnly, and Hermione's brain whirled, trying to decipher the message that Luna was surely giving her. 

“Tree Squeaks?” Hermione asked, scrunching up her face against the glare of the sun as the looked at the taller witch. “For fuck’s sake Luna, can't you just tell me what you want me to know? There really is no need for the riddles anymore.”

“I would've thought the Brightest Witch of Her Age wouldn't shy away from one little riddle posed by a flighty Ravenclaw. Losing your touch, Hermione? All those hours in the potions lab must be pickling your brain.”

“Bitch,” Hermione laughed, tucking the cryptic warning into the back of her mind for the moment. “What brings you to Pretannike?”

“Draco is teaching a broom handling course to the fourth years, trying to get them ready for Oliver. He's worried that he's going to attempt to stack the Gryffindor deck with extra credit, so he wants to even the field before they get there. He's convinced that this year's graduates will be disproportionately Slytherin and he's almost frothing at the mouth for the Quidditch Cup,” Luna replied, rolling her eyes at her sports mad fiance.

“Oh, Oliver got the spot! That's lovely!” Hermione enthused, genuinely pleased at the decision.

The pair walked back into the school, Luna animatedly discussing the beauty of alfirin flowers and their potential in wedding decorations, while Hermione tried in vain to convince the witch that any flowers that bloomed only on burial tombs of Kings would not be a good addition to her bridal bouquet. 

Just as they entered the gymnasium, where Draco appeared to be finishing his lesson, Hermione grabbed Luna by the arm.

“Luna, you're a Pureblood, right?” She asked baldly, wincing at her awkward phrasing. 

“Unless someone along the way snuck in a child they got off a Mistress, yes. These things do happen, of course, but as far as I can tell, yes,” Luna said, unfazed.

“What do you know about courting rituals?” Hermione asked, keeping an eye out for Draco.

“We never put much stock in those sort of things. Mother was a Braithwaite, and they were rich enough that they could turn their nose up at all that rot. Father's people are just weird, so they never paid heed to that either. The only thing I really know is that a courting couple is never to be left unattended, and that Draco's nanny elf has a weakness for goblin gin,” Luna said, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively at Hermione. “Although I don't think the Dark Lord himself could have kept us apart. There is just something about the way he handles his wand, if you know what I mean.”

“Sweet Circe, Luna! Some things are sacred. Any detail of Draco's wand are very firmly placed in that category,” Hermione cried, trying to pour mental bleach in her brain to burn away the images that were now playing out in loop.

“It's quite alright, Hermione. I'm sure Draco would give you a demonstration if you like. He quite enjoys showing off his wand skills,” Luna smiled naughtily as Hermione reddened.

“I'll pass on the demonstration, I think. In fact, I may need to Obliviate this conversation from my mind. I don't need any stray thoughts of Draco's wand floating around my mind when I talk with Our Lord this evening,” Hermione groaned, knowing that the Dark Lord would love nothing more than to tease her mercilessly about her wayward thoughts.

“It is a fine wand, Granger, if I do say so myself,” Draco drawled, coming to a stop next to Luna. “You wouldn't be the first witch to desire a demonstration.”

“Argh!” She cried, swatting him on the arm as he bent to greet his fiance. 

Giving them a moment to reacquaint their lips, she watched as the students filled out the doors, chattering excitedly about their upcoming adventures at Hogwarts. Severus had rescinded the broom restrictions, as they were no longer Muggleborn students who would have not had access to brooms before attending school, but they were still not allowed to play Quidditch until their second year.

Seeing that the pair had surfaced for air, she turned back to them.

“I was hoping to ask some advice about Pureblood etiquette,” she began, a blush filling her face. 

“Oh this must be good if it has you turning so red. Let's go to the kitchens so I can get something to drink. I don't envy Oliver the task of teaching broom safety to this lot,” Draco said, and the friends started down the hallway toward the kitchens. 

“It's not that exciting, I hate to tell you,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “Finn is bringing his parents to Nathair Manor tomorrow morning, and I will be accompanying them to the funerals.”

Draco whistled low as Luna looked at her in shock.

“What?” Hermione asked, startled at their reactions, Luna's being most telling. “Should I tell him no?”

“Have you already accepted?” Draco asked, his eyes on her.

“Yes, I replied to his letter, thanking him for the offer and inviting them to breakfast at the Dark Lord’s suggestion,” Hermione replied, slightly confused.

“Did Finn ask the Dark Lord’s permission before making the invitation?” Luna asked, her eyes bright.

“I'm not sure. He didn't seem surprised when I mentioned it, but that doesn't necessarily indicate foreknowledge. He is exceptionally intuitive.”

“Hermione, this is a big deal. Accompanying Finn and his parents to a state function is tantamount to accepting courtship. Is that what you want?” Draco pressed gently, holding open the door to the kitchens and ushering them through.

Hermione looked around the kitchens at the elves who were busily preparing dinner, sighing slightly as they all seemed to shrink in on themselves at the sight of 'Missy Hermy Who Musts be Promising to Never Again Try to Frees Us.’ Blaise had literally laughed himself sick when he heard the elves address her as such when they went to recruit for Pretannike at Hogwarts, and Hermione knew they would never forgive her for her S.P.E.W. campaign. She understood elves better now, knew that their desire to serve was linked with their magic, and would never again attempt to free an unwilling elf, but most still got a cagey look in their eyes whenever she addressed them directly.

“That's ridiculous,” she said, turning up her nose as she climbed onto a stool beside Luna, the elves scurrying to find Master Draco a snack. “We haven't even had a proper date yet. Would the biddies be so quick to march us down the aisle?”

Smirking at hearing Hermione inadvertently refer to his mother as a 'biddy,’ Draco took a bite of the ham sandwich that appeared before him. 

“That is practically what you would be announcing if you showed up on his arm with his parents, Hermione,” he replied, reaching for his pumpkin juice.

“Draco and I were never seen in public with his parents until after our betrothal contract was formally signed,” Luna commented, snagging a crisp from Draco's plate.

“For Salazar's sake, Lune, just get your own food if you're hungry. I feel like I could eat a hippogriff and I know if I let you you'll eat half this damned plate,” Draco groused, the warmth in his eyes proving that he secretly loved her sharing his meal.

Luna stuck her tongue out at him and stole another crisp before turning back to Hermione. 

“It seems odd to you because it is, quite frankly. However, this is the world we live in. Especially for you, it would have all the Pureblooded twits ordering new dress robes and envisioning monogrammed towels quicker than you could say Blibbering Humdinger.”

“I think you are the only person on the planet with any reason to say that, Luna,” Hermione laughed, reaching to steal a crisp for herself. Smiling at the familiar taste of salt and vinegar, she savored it for a moment before her eyes popped open. “What do you mean, 'especially for me’?”

“Because you are Voldemort's heir, of course,” Luna said matter of factly, smiling affectionately as she brushed a crumb from Draco's chin. “You have rarely been seen in public at all these past few years, and gossip had it that you would be marrying Voldemort. To see you with Finn and his parents will officially signify that you are Voldemort's heir, not his lover, and the only logical conclusion that will be reached is that you are living with the Dark Lord because he is your Head of House, not your intended.”

Hermione gaped like a fish at Luna and Draco, who were casually finishing their snack, Draco's concern that she would eat half his plate proving true.

“M-marry Voldemort?” She sputtered. “That's, that's insane!” 

“You have been living in his home for the past three years, Granger. What did you think people would suspect? The thought has crossed my mind a time or two, I won't deny it.” Draco said, sliding his glass to Luna, who finished the juice gratefully.

“That's ridiculous. He's like my father!” Hermione exclaimed, angry at the gossip that had been spreading without her knowledge.

“Fathers don't give earth shattering orgasms, Hermione, at least not in my experience,” Draco drawled, a queer look on his face.

“I didn't mean it like that, you nitwit. I mean that he looks out for me, protects me, teaches me. I could never marry him,” Hermione muttered, feeling slightly ill at the thought.

“The fact remains, that if you attend the funerals tomorrow with the Rowles, you are announcing that the pair of you are courting, and it will firmly take you off the market for any future possibilities. Are you ok with that?” Luna asked, her eyes gentle as she watched Hermione take a deep breath.

“You know what? I think I am,” she said, her eyes bright as she envisioned a future on Finn's arm.

“Fantastic,” Draco quipped, pushing himself away from the counter and helping Luna down from her stool. “Now if you will excuse us, I have an idea for how we can work off all these excess calories before dinner.”

“You are a pig,” Hermione smiled as she stood from the stool and hugged Luna. “I will see you both in the morning. You won't be able to miss me, I'll be the one leaving a trail of gossip in my wake as I enter the room with my intended.” She rolled her eyes as Draco kissed her cheek in farewell and she turned to the slightly apprehensive house elves as the lovers left the room.

“What say you we arrange an ice cream party for the little ones after their nap, hmm?” She asked, grinning at the delight filling the faces around her.

Much later that afternoon, she came back through the Floo to Nathair Manor, feeling slightly ill at the amount of sugar she had consumed. It had been worth it to see the genuine joy on the children's faces, even if Marnie had scolded her before she returned home for spoiling them. Hermione had felt a bit like an Auntie, swooping in and sugaring up the children before whisking herself away and leaving their surrogate parents to deal with the fallout. 

Giggling as she left the entry parlor, she wondered idly where the Dark Lord would be. She wanted to thank him again for his support that morning, and try and determine if he understood the implications of allowing her to accompany Finn in the morning. Hearing a rustle in his office, she knocked on the door, smiling as it opened under her hand.

She was surprised to see Lucius sitting across the desk from Voldemort, a tense silence filling the room as though she had interrupted a serious discussion. She walked to the sideboard and poured a glass of firewhiskey, noting the low level in the decanter that she knew was always kept filled. Raising the glass to her lips, she lifted an eyebrow at the silence that still permeated the room. 

“Have I interrupted something?” She asked after she had swallowed, relishing the burn that chased away the lingering sweetness of maraschino cherries and caramel sauce.

“Of course not, Lutea,” the Dark Lord said, a slightly dangerous look in his face. “Lucius has come to me with some concerns and I have been attempting to assure him that they are misplaced.”

“You don't fully understand the ramifications of what you've agreed to, My Lord!” The wizard exclaimed, clearly not agreeing with the arguments the Dark Lord had presented. “The implications will be unable to be ignored!”

“I am fully aware of the consequences of my attending the funeral with Finn, Lucius, and I am sure that My Lord understands them as well,” Hermione soothed, trying to understand why he was so frantic.

“You cannot!” He burst out, a glare from Voldemort curbing his full opinion.

“Lutea is a witch who is very capable of making her own decisions, Lucius,” Voldemort warned, his voice low. “And as I am acting as her Head, I am surely only acting in her best interests!”

Hermione settled onto the low couch next to the sideboard, sensing that any further input from her would only further fan the flames of this oddly heated debate.

“Thorfinn is a fine Death Eater, and a wealthy member of the sacred Twenty Eight. I fail to see what your objections to the match could be,” Voldemort said, reaching for his own glass.

“That may be true, My Lord, but the fact remains that this is a wizard who murdered his last fiance and got off with a slap on the wrist and a wink for his creative flair. I cannot allow Hermione to be bound to such a man!” Lucius thundered, his anger clear on his face as Hermione stiffened, fear filling her as her fingers tensed on the glass she held in her hands.

“Do you doubt your Lord, Lucius?” Voldemort asked, his voice deadly.

Paling, the wizard reached for his own glass and took a fortifying drink. 

“It is not you that I doubt, My Lord, never you. I fear for the behavior that Rowle has displayed in the past. What if Hermione angers him in some way? What if he decides to harm her in some sort of misguided desire for punishment?”

“Then the vows that he swore to me would aim his curses at his own throat!” The Dark Lord seethed, his patience with Lucius having reached it's breaking point. “I will not sit here and be lectured at by the wizard I have raised by my own hand to the highest seat in the land for imagined negligence! I am not some weak child that you can cower into submission, Malfoy!”

Hermione cleared her throat delicately, determined to head off the violence that was threatening to spill out. 

“Am I allowed to speak for myself?” she asked, slightly annoyed at them both.

The wizards didn’t even acknowledge her question as they continued to glare at one another.

“What provisions will you be providing to cover the bride price?” Lucius asked, intelligently retreating from his earlier argument.

“A small manor home in Surrey, the apothecary in Diagon Alley and her maidenhead,” the Dark Lord replied curtly, his anger still apparent.

“She's a virgin?” Lucius asked, his neck turning slightly red as Hermione choked on her firewhiskey.

“I will not repeat myself, Malfoy,” Voldemort warned.

“All the more reason to not allow this union!” Lucius roared, his anger returning full force. “Rowle cannot be trusted with power of that magnitude!”

“Cruro Madidus,” the Dark Lord hissed, leaning forward in his seat as Lucius stiffened, his face turning red and his eyes bulging. 

“My Lord!” Hermione cried, rising from her seat. Voldemort waved a hand at her and she was pressed back into the plush couch, the weight of the curse forcing the air from her lungs. She watched helplessly as Lucius’ blood boiled in his veins, his eyes beginning to roll back in his head before Voldemort calmly lifted the curse.

“Do not press your luck, Lucius. I have made my decision, based on my wishes and those of Lutea. Do you think I would ever make a choice that was not in her best interests?” Lucius panted as his color returned to normal, his breathing slowed and he straightened in his own chair. Hermione was still immobilized, her eyes like fire as she watched the pair, now calmly sipping firewhiskey as though they were discussing the weather. Lucius’ hand shook slightly, but there was no other outward indication he had been mere moments from death.

“I will continue to trust in your will, My Lord,” he said simply, his eyes tight. “I merely could not, in good conscience, allow this betrothal to go forward without expressing my concerns. I will not be the only one to think so, My Lord, but I will use what I have learned here tonight to quell the gossips.”

Hermione was enraged at the way that the wizards were speaking of her impending nuptials as though the contract had already been signed. Merlin's beard, didn't these men think she had any say in the matter? Not that she minded the thought of being married to Finn in the least, but at least a cursory attempt to ascertain her approval wouldn't have been amiss. 

“Do you think the bride price fair, Lucius?” Voldemort asked, his voice even. “Thorfinn seemed to think them agreeable, but I would appreciate your input on the matter.”

Hermione saw red as Lucius began to speak, and she was unable to hear him over the roaring in her ears. Finn 'thought the terms agreeable’? When had he been consulted? Why in the fuck had no one thought to loop her in on this discussion? These weren't the Middle Ages, where women were bartered off for a wheel of cheese and a sodding cow! She fought the curse still rendering her immobile, intent on giving both wizards a piece of her mind and a not insignificant reminder of why she wasn't a witch to be ignored. These chauvinistic bastards would think twice before discussing her maidenhead as though it were a bargaining chip!

She had managed to wiggle her index finger before Lucius noticed her rage. When he merely raised an elegant eyebrow at her, she felt the Darkness within her crest and the curse melted away like snow before the raging fire of her wrath.

She leapt from the couch, pulling her wand from her robes.

“Discerpo!” She cried, pointing her wand at the pair of them. Voldemort chuckled as he cast a shield charm, her shredding curse landing only on the hem of Lucius’ fine robes. Barely pausing to acknowledge the ribbons she had flayed the silk into, Hermione cast again.

“Fulmina!” She spat, her rage darkening her vision. Voldemort's shield held, but the electric current her curse unleashed shattered the lamps in the room. 

Hermione screamed in the darkened room as both her curses failed, and Voldemort stood from his seat. Before he could speak, Hermione lashed out again.

“Vampa Lancia!”

Flaming spears shot from the end of her wand, and Lucius dove out of his chair and to the hardwood floor. Hermione's spell casting was perfect, even in her rage, and one of the spears struck his arm. As he howled in pain, Voldemort was casting furiously, extinguishing the spears when they got too close. The strain of such sustained Dark Magic overwhelmed Hermione, and her wand fell limply to her side. Lucius put out the blaze that had overtaken his sleeve and was murmuring a healing spell for the severe burns he had received while Voldemort looked at Hermione, a surprised look on his face.

“What is the meaning of this, Lutea?” The Dark Lord asked, still standing, his wand in hand. “Isn't this what you desire?”

“How dare you presume to sell me off like a fattened calf! Do you think I am a bolt of cloth for you to sell at the market? I am a human being!” Hermione raged, her magic already recovered from her earlier display.

“What about our discussion displeased you, Ms. Granger?” Voldemort questioned, his formality further irking Hermione.

“Whatever do you mean, My Lord?” Hermione sneered, her face an ugly visage of rage. “Why would I have any reason to object to a 'discussion’ between two wizards about my potential worth as a broodmare as though I am not even in the room? Why would I be upset about being affianced without any say in the matter? I am simply upset that you didn't see fit to include the fucking goats in my oh so generous dowry!”

Summoning her wand, Voldemort gestured to the seat next to a now livid Lucius. When she made no attempt to move, he waved his hand and Hermione felt a hand scoop her up and drop her in the leather chair.

“Let's discuss this like adults, shall we? I cannot talk to you when you are raging like a child.”

Hermione spat at him from her unwilling seat, unwilling to be soothed.

“Do calm down, Ms. Granger, your rage is so unappealing,” Lucius drawled, topping up his glass and after glancing at Voldemort, the Dark Lord’s as well. Hermione’s own glass lay on the rug behind her, the dark liquid staining the carpet 

“We cannot have that, can we?” Hermione snarked, feeling her rage begin to settle. “I might only be able to fetch a single pair of oxen as an unattractive witch.”

“Don't be ridiculous, my dear. You will always be worth a team of oxen for your magical power alone, no matter how vile your temper.”

“That's enough, both of you,” Voldemort snapped, his voice hard. “Hermione, I know that you desire Thorfinn, and he would be a strong match for you. To his credit, he is smart wizard, who knows that the best way to get what he desires more than anything else, which is you in his bed, is to parlay with me. The Rowle’s may be a powerful family, but I would never see fit to bond you with a wizard you did not lust after. This is simply how these things are done, you understand.”

Voldemort held up a hand to stem her retort as he turned to Lucius. 

“Lucius, I value your counsel above almost all others, and I am indebted to you for your fatherly concern towards Lutea. However, I will for abide you speaking to me as though I am an imbecile who cannot see the ramifications of my decisions. Do you know the scores of wizards who have asked for her hand? If I had even a momentary doubt as to her safety with a wizard like him I would strike him down before the words even left his mouth. Now,” he continued, raising his glass to his lips, “let us have a rational discussion about this betrothal contract so that we may enjoy dinner in peace.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headmistress Marnie's speech was heavily influenced by a speech given by Abraham Lincoln after the dedication of the cemetery after the battle of Gettysburg, which is known as the Gettysburg address. If you are only familiar with the opening line (Four score and seven years ago...) I highly recommend you read it in it's entirety, as it is quite moving.


	14. Suspicion

Hermione pushed her peas from one side of the plate to the other sulkily, her brain still processing the conversation she had just left with the Dark Lord and Lucius Malfoy. The final agreement had been more than satisfactory, and her message had certainly been heard loud and clear, but she still felt vaguely unsettled by the whole situation. She knew she would need to talk to Finn, had demanded it even, as a requirement of the new 'bride price', but she certainly wasn't looking forward to the conversation. How did one begin a discussion with a man who had no problem discussing her worth in terms of business ventures and real estate? Their relationship was just beginning, and it already felt tainted. As a result, here she sat, avoiding her vegetables like a scolded child, with the ticking of that damned clock beating out a tattoo in her head as it pulsed in time with the rhythmic beat.

She was admittedly flattered that Lucius had stormed Nathair Manor as soon as Draco had told him of her impending courtship with Finn, but was still furious at the machinations that had taken place seemingly behind her back. While her rational mind understood that she had tacitly agreed to Finn’s proposal when she accepted his invitation to accompany him to the funeral, she was pouting now about the blind faith with which she had entered the agreement. As a muggleborn witch, she had no understanding of the ramifications of the outing, and she felt, fairly in her opinion, that Finn and her Lord had taken advantage of her ignorance. If there was anything Hermione hated, it was being made to feel the fool because of a lack of information. 

On the one hand, she felt better about the haggling involved in such negotiations, but this was surely beginning to feel much more like a business proposal than a romantic one, and she couldn't help but feel put out with Finn for going behind her back. While she knew that there was no romantic bond between herself and Voldemort, the wizard wasn't even capable of such things, Hermione was sure, she had had no idea that he planned to act as her Head of Household in her marriage plans. If anything, she would've believed Lucius would fill that role for her, when and if the time came for her to need that type of assistance. Honestly, she had foolishly believed herself free to marry for love and nothing less, and while she did feel that those feelings would come with Finn, it was certainly a sour start to their relationship. 

With those thoughts running chaotically through her head, she continued to avoid eating her dinner, her brain running on overdrive in an attempt to sort out her conflicting emotions. Voldemort sat in his usual place at the head of the table, while a very uncomfortable looking Severus sat across from Hermione. Ginny was noticeably absent from the meal, but as Hermione was sure that the Dark Lord had taken the time to ensure that his lesson at the school was fully learned, she would've been surprised if the witch was still conscious, let alone possessing the mental reserves to simply kneel silently through an entire meal. Suddenly, Severus cleared his throat awkwardly and Hermione winced, fearing that he was going to request an explanation as to the stilted atmosphere in the room.

“How was your visit, Ms. Granger?” The wizard asked, cutting into his potatoes. “Were your worst fears realized? Did the children chase you out with an army of charmed teddies?”

Hermione laughed softly at the image, welcoming the chance to talk about the children.   
“You were right, Master Snape,” Hermione grimaced, sticking out her tongue at him as he pretended to choke on his wine in shock at her utterance. “The children were overjoyed to see me, and the faculty were just as pleased. My apologies for being absent were actually met with some scorn, as they believed they wouldn't have had to opportunity to defend their students if I had been there. Honestly, I don't think it ever occurred to the children that I should have been there, except for Misty Hawkins, but she was only pleased that I hadn't been there to be injured. No one seemed to hold me accountable.”

“As we all knew would be the case, Lutea,” the Dark Lord smiled, unperturbed when Hermione ignored him with a wholly out of character flip of her braid.

“I saw Luna and Draco there this afternoon, Draco was conducting an impromptu broom handling class. Excellent decision with Oliver, he is going to make a fine teacher. Draco is concerned that he may attempt to pad the Gryffindor team, so he wanted to even the field. We had a lovely chat over a quick snack, and then the elves and I arranged a surprise for the students. Then I came home, it was quite a lovely day.”

“A conversation with Draco and Luna, hmm? Did you discuss wedding plans? Narcissa is quite put out with some whim of lunas regarding floral arrangements, apparently,” Severus commented, pushing away his plate.

“We discussed Pureblood dating customs, actually,” hermione sniffed, taking a sip of her wine.

“I take it you have deduced the impact of your outing tomorrow then, princess?” he asked, Hermione scowling at both the reminder of Ronald's harsh words in the dungeons the week prior and the new knowledge that seemingly everyone but herself had been aware of the implications of her naivety. “Surely you are pleased? You can barely keep your hands off the brute whenever you are within a meter’s radius of one another.”

“He's not a brute!” Hermione snapped, her nerves still raw after Lucius had made his ugly allegations earlier that afternoon. “He is a lovely wizard who is slightly misguided in his outdated ideas of romance.”

“Ah, so it is the feel of a business transaction that has you up in arms, then?” Severus chuckled, a knowing look on his face. “Did you at least manage to maim one of them?”

Hermione snorted, ignoring the glare Voldemort sent her way at the undignified sound. 

“Lucius remains in full use of all his limbs, I'm afraid,” she said, giving in and taking a bite of the crisp spring vegetables on her plate.

“Not for lack of trying, Lutea,” the Dark Lord scolded, a smirk on his face.

“Lucius?” Severus questioned, clearly confused.

“I was concerned that something like this would be the result of the invitation and asked Luna and Draco to explain it to me. While I remained at Pretannike to enjoy the remainder of the afternoon with the children, Draco returned home and informed his father of our conversation. He had some...concerns about the match and brought them to Our Lord. I arrived as their discussion was reaching its peak. I took exception to being discussed like a barrel of ale and made sure to make my opinion heard,” Hermione summarized, her eyes hard as she looked at Voldemort, who was calmly finishing his roast. “I may or may not have struck Lucius with a flaming spear in retaliation to a comment he made regarding Finn's worthiness to be trusted with my virginity.” 

Severus laughed aloud as he imagined the scene, and Hermione gifted him with a small smile in return. 

“I trust you are no longer wishing bodily harm upon my person, Lutea?” The Dark Lord questioned, raising an eyebrow at the petite witch.

“You are quite safe at the moment, I assure you, My Lord. If that should change, I reserve the right to keep that to myself, as it would be most unfair to give you even further advantage over me.”

Voldemort chuckled softly at her words, and the tense atmosphere dissipated.

Finishing their meals, the Dark Lord and Severus made plans to retire to the study to discuss the upcoming graduation ceremony, and Hermione, not wishing to wait until the Dark Lord had the time for their usual nightcap, excused herself to bed. Pausing to allow Voldemort access to her mind’s recollections of the day, grimacing through a mild scolding about spoiling the children with sweets, she gladly took her leave, hoping that a good night's sleep would ease her pounding head and allow her to face Finn in the morning with clarity.

Kissing first the Dark Lord and then Severus’ cheek in good night, she climbed the stairs to her bedchamber, very much looking forward to sleep. She had just reached the top step when she heard a soft rustling from the far side of the hall. 

“Pimm?” She called out, expecting to see the Dark Lord’s elf in the shadows. 

Hearing nothing, she shrugged and turned toward her bedroom, yawning widely. Suddenly, her head snapped back as though a hand had caught the hem of her robes, having caught her unaware. Her heart pounded in her ribs as she whirled around, looking for the source of her detainment. Seeing no one, she tried to calm her racing heart, but was still slightly rattled as she headed toward her room. Reaching the door, she sighed as she remembered she had left her potions journal in Voldemort's room the evening prior, as they were discussing her Apprenticeship while the Dark Lord dressed for dinner. 

Realizing that she would need it in the morning, and desiring to read back over her notes before resuming her studies the next day, she turned around and headed back the way she came, planning to slip into his chambers quickly. Giving the landing a wide berth, she cast a Lumos and chuckled as she saw what had ensared her earlier. There was a wrought iron table at the top of the landing that held a vase of flowers, and the curling fleur de lis that made up the legs had probably tangled in her robes as she made her way past.

Chuckling softly under her breath at her foolishness, she continued down the hall to Voldemort's rooms, thinking of the clever students and their countdown calendar. She was pleased that they had included Pieter, and she hoped that he would be able to adjust to life without his exuberant twin. She was sure that his youth would work in his favor in that department, and hopefully he would be without the sense of lingering loss she knew would result if they had been even five years older.

Opening the door quietly, she stilled, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness of the room. She saw her journal lying on the small table sitting in between the armchairs before the fire, and began to make her way over to it. She stiffened as she heard a low wheezing breath, and her eyes cut to the velvet pillow that she knew sat next to Voldemort's desk, where Ginny would sit as the Dark Lord wrote his correspondence. 

The small witch was lying there, her face contorted in a painful grimace, even in her sleep. Her left eye was swollen closed, and her lip appeared to be split. The way she was sleeping suggested that a rib or two had been broken, and Hermione surmised that the persistent wheeze was the result of a punctured lung. As she peered closer, she was taken aback to see a bit of blood gathering at the corner of Ginny's ear, indicating internal bleeding. The extent of her injuries confused Hermione, but only in their sheer physicality. The Dark Lord usually preferred his wand, and this lingering evidence of his anger pointed at a rage that Hermione hadn't seen from him in quite some time. Much more rage than she would've thought would be the result of an attack at Pretannike, even with the loss of life that had occured. Her mind ruminating on that interesting tidbit, she continued to cross the room, her eyes darting every few seconds to Ginny's sleeping form.

She reached down and picked up the journal, turning back to leave the room. Just as she brought the journal to her chest, she felt a tickle in her nose. Before she could stop herself, she sneezed, the sound almost deafening in the still room. Ginny started, her face blanching at the pain that surely accompanied the sudden movement.

Pushing herself into a kneeling position, Ginny looked up at Hermione, and a look of surprise flashed across her face before the usual mask of simmering anger she wore when she encountered Hermione fell back into place.

“You,” she sneered, though the effect of her snarled words was ruined by their shaky delivery. “What do you want?”

Hermione lifted the journal and wiggled it slightly, her mouth curving into a soft smile. 

“I forgot my potions journal last night. I wished to go back over my notes before tomorrow, and so I came in to retrieve it. I'm just leaving,” Hermione said, turning back to the door, hardening her heart to the witch's obvious distress.

She had just begun to make her exit as Ginny laid back down, and the witch’s sharp gasp of pain made her stop in her tracks.

“Ginny?” Hermione questioned, rolling her eyes as the witch spat at her. “Why didn't Our Lord heal your injuries? For that matter, why do you even have them? What could you have possibly said to enrage him so fully?”

“Who said that I said anything?” Ginny sneered, wincing as she pushed herself into something resembling an upright seated position. “Sometimes I am reminded of the ‘realities of my situation’ and tonight happened to be one of those nights. Not all of us are as privileged as you are.”

Hermione highly doubted the witch's words, knowing that if Voldemort desired to keep Ginny subservient he had many more potent tools in his arsenal than thuggery. There was more here than met the eye, she was sure of it. Taking a chance, she stepped toward Ginny, withdrawing her wand. 

“I'm simply going to heal you,” she soothed as Ginny flinched away from the sight of Hermione stalking toward her, wand aloft. “If Our Lord intended on you dying he would've made sure to be here for the finale.”

She knelt down in front of the witch and hummed the healing spells quietly, pleased at the blue light that made quick work of Ginny's eyes and lip. She added a second, more powerful spell to tend to her internal injuries, and was slightly alarmes to see the amber light hovering not only over her head but her lower abdomen as well. When the witch was breathing more easily, she smiled slightly at her, relieved that she would survive the night. Ginny didn't return the gesture, her eyes wary as she looked at Hermione. 

“Why did you do that?” She questioned, and Hermione bit back a sigh at the appalling lack of gratitude the younger woman displayed. “Why not just leave me here to die?”

“Honestly?” Hermione asked, trusting her instincts as she sat back on her heels. At Ginny's hesitant nod, she continued. “Because I don't think Our Lord did this to you,” she said simply, shrugging at Ginny's gobstruck face. “He was in his study with Lucius when I returned home, and he hinted that he had been there when Lucius arrived. Any lessons he would've had to teach you today would've occurred at Pretannike, not here, and knowing him as I do, he would've been more apt to banish you to his rooms to suffer his absence than to lay a hand on you. Whether you wish to admit it or not, you crave his company and approval. We all do, there's no shame in that,” she comforted the witch, Ginny having shrunk in on herself at the baldly phrased statement. Hermione knowing that she herself also fell victim to the same compulsion, and had had a similar reaction when it was brought to her attention by the Dark Lord himself.

“Which begs the question, who did this to you? You’ve no interaction with anyone outside of the elves, as far as I can tell, so it is unlikely that you pissed off anyone enough to tempt them to risk His wrath at laying a hand on you. So then, who was it?” 

Hermione stood then and made her way back to the door, keeping her eyes on the witch. She watched as Ginny continued to withdraw into herself, a myriad of emotions playing out across her face as Hermione studied her. 

Neither of them spoke for several minutes, Hermione pausing with her hand on the door knob before Ginny finally broke the silence.

“I hate you.” She said calmly, her quiet tone, as well as the abrupt subject change surprising Hermione.

Hermione shook her head as she laughed out loud, Summoning the decanter of brandy from the low table under the windows, adding a second glass after a moment of consideration.

“No you don't. You don't hate Voldemort either. I think the only person you reserve such strong feelings for, Ginny, is yourself. Stop clinging to childish ideals that no longer exist and start taking advantage of everything that has been offered to you.” 

She poured them both a healthy dose and sent Ginny's to the table next to the armchairs. Ginny hesitated for a moment before pushing herself to her feet and padding softly across the room, unabashed in her sheer shift. Snatching the glass from the table, she took a deep drink before turning to face Hermione.

“They kept his fucking arm, Hermione. What kind of rational person keeps an arm in a trophy case?” Ginny asked, guzzling more brandy.

“What kind of Greater Good attacks innocent, unarmed children?” Hermione countered, smirking as Ginny choked as she opened the door. “Sleep tight Ginerva.”

Heading back to her room, she jumped back as she passed Chlap, one of the groundskeeping elves, who was lurking by the wall. She recognized him from her early morning runs, as he tended to the forests on the grounds through which she would run, which appeared to the untrained eye have been left in their wild state, but in reality were carefully tended to encourage the magical creatures who inhabited the woods to thrive and keep the areas where prized wild magical plants grew. She was confused as to why he would be in the house at this late hour until she saw the verbena clutched in his fist. Knowing that Voldemort probably requested some of the rare night blooming variety, she smiled at him as she made her way past. He didn't return the gesture, but Hermione was unconcerned, knowing him to be a cantankerous elf who dealt with plants and wild creatures much more comfortably than witches and wizards. 

Finally entering her rooms, she placed the now empty brandy glass on the bookcase as she entered the bathroom to brush her teeth, calling for Jilly and requesting tea to be sent up while biting back a smile at the frothy blue creation the elf had draped herself in. By the time Jilly had returned with the tea, Hermione had changed into her nightclothes and was tucked in bed, her journal open in her lap. Fondly wishing the elf a good night, and casting a surreptitious altering spell so the poor thing wouldn't trip on her way back down the stairs, Hermione snuggled down into her blankets as she opened her journal, closing her eyes momentarily to savor the smell of the tea wafting up to her nose. Stealing a biscuit from the tray, she began to read over her notes from the week, relieved to feel the pressure in her head start to fade away.

About an hour later, Hermione sat up with a start, her mind connecting some dots as she read her careful notes about the usages of Columbine in ancient healing potions. Her thoughts began to barrel on, almost faster than she could follow them, as she thought back to Luna's warning earlier in the day. Sitting fully upright, she Summoned one of the research tomes Luna had given her a few years previous for Yule, jokingly telling her it might help her swotty brain to make sense of the ‘fantastical loads of codswallop’ that the Quibbler had been printing all these years.

Thumbing frantically through the index of the Woodland Creatures tome, she groaned in frustration as it skipped straight from Tree Frogs to Tree Swallows. Summoning her copy of Bonide’s Woodland Dwellers, she was left similarly empty handed. She sat there in bed, both books abandoned to the eiderdown, as she began to catalogue what she thought she knew. 

Firstly, there had been Luna's vague warning about restless Tree Squeaks in the trees outside Pretannike. The fact that the creatures were apparently fantastical seemed to lend credence to Hermione's sense of warning. Had Luna been cautioning her about someone who wished to harm the children? She knew that Luna was dangerous intelligent, but the witch served as a gather if intelligence doe the Dark Lord, and as a result had continued to speak in the vague riddles she had grown up printing. However if the threat had been imminent, she wouldn't have phased her concerns so puzzlingly, and she would've taken the information to Voldemort himself, so Hermione relaxed slightly, knowing that Luna wouldn't have more than a vague suspicion. 

Second was the state she had discovered Ginny in, as she knew in her bones that the Dark Lord had nothing to do with her injuries. Even if he had temporarily taken leave of his common sense to beat the witch to within an inch of her life, which Hermione knew he simply wouldn't have had the time nor the inclination to do, she knew that he would've forced her to remain at his side so he could continue to enjoy her suffering. Someone else had done that to her, and the lack of magical wounds seemed to point to someone who was either trying to avoid detection or send a message.

Lastly Chalp’s silent presence in the hallway outside of Voldemort's rooms now seemed to be the most suspicious. Even if the Dark Lord had requested the Verbena he had been clutching, Chalp would've been ordered to bring it to him in the study, where he was most likely still ensconced with Severus, as it was near useless after a mere half hour past gathering. Violet Verbena was a common ingredient in ancient healing spells, ones that she knew the elves still used to this day. Had Chlap been intending to heal Ginny? How had one of the grounds elves been aware of her current state? 

Hermione frowned as her headache returned with a vengeance while she struggled to fit the pieces together. She knew that the dark Wards on the house would deny entry to anyone desiring to harm the Dark Lord or herself, so while she wasn't exactly concerned or fearful, the thought that she was missing something was niggling at her brain, like an itch in the very center of her back. 

Returning the books to their carefully ordered places, she Accioed a Pain Relief potion and swallowed it, wisely concluding that this particular mystery could wait until another day. Perhaps Ginny had simply looked askance at Bellatrix or Alecto during one of their 'evening teas’ with the Dark Lord. Merlin knew both witches were deranged enough to attempt to seek retribution for an imagined slight, and it wasn't as though Ginny had any real means by which to fight back, even if she had stood a chance against either witch with the assistance of a wand, which she obviously did not posess. 

Confident in her decision to leave her suspicions for another day, Hermione felt the welcoming tingle of the potion begin to ease the migraine that had been looming as she cast a quick Tempus, shrieking when she saw the late hour. Her mind now fully occupied with the stress of talking to Finn and meeting his bloody parents in the morning, she extinguished the lights and tried to get some sleep, knowing that she would need all her wits about her in the morning.


	15. Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for my absence! I had Auntie duty for all 4 of my littles last weekend and it was crazy!!

Hermione had been pacing the relatively short span of the entry parlor for the past twenty minutes, and it was obvious to Lord Voldemort that she was worked up about something. He wasn't immune to her distress, but she hadn't chosen to confide in him, and after her snit yesterday he didn't feel like attempting to figure it out for himself. If the witch wanted to pace the equivalent of a Quidditch pitch across the parquet, he would let her. Despite her frenetic movement, the witch looked truly perfect, and he chose instead to admire her form as she stalked across the floor. 

She looked quite unlike the witch he had grown accustomed to these past few years, her hair having been slightly tamed and left unbound, allowing the thick chestnut curls to hang down her back. She was dressed in an elegant set of jet black dress robes, the non-traditional cocktail length seeming to emphasize her petite frame, while simultaneously flaunting her gorgeous legs. She wore a dangerous looking pair of bubblegum pink heels, informing the Dark Lord upon her arrival in the room that they were Prianka’s favorite color and that she was wearing them in honor of the cheerful little witch. Not wishing to go without honoring Kerrie Beth’s sacrifice as well, she was wearing a simple set of deep blue sapphire drop earrings, a pair he had given her himself, as a nod to the teacher’s Ravenclaw origins. She wore a simple silk shift dress under her robes, for the luncheon at Thaddeus and Isadora Nott’s following the service, in an appropriately somber slate grey. She looked perfectly the part of a Pureblood heiress, and he was quite proud of her.

Turning away to hide his smile at her nervous energy, he let his thoughts drift to little Ginerva, who was kneeling at his side, as per usual, although looking more than a little green around the gills. He had been quite surprised to return to his chambers and find that she had consumed almost his entire bottle of brandy. He had banished the little bitch to his rooms to sulk after his lesson in the courtyard of Pretannike, and had not been pleased upon returning to find her sloshed. 

He had generously attempted to give her the chance to explain herself; but as she had been disgustingly drunk by that point, he ended up having to wade into her brain, and all he had been able to make sense of in her jumbled thoughts was that Hermione had entered his chambers for a book of some sort and had for some inexplicable reason seen fit to give his little pet liquor. There was an odd span of time of which she seemed to have no recollection, but he chalked it up to the spirits. 

No matter, he could figure it out this evening. For now he was content to watch Ginny attempt to maintain her position at his feet. It was very amusing, the way she kept swaying, and if he was very lucky, she would lose her balance before the Rowle’s arrival. He wouldn't punish her for consuming alcohol that she had been freely given, but if she couldn't follow the rules today, well, that was another matter entirely. It couldn't be said that he wasn't a fair Lord.

Voldemort inhaled sharply, watching a still pacing Hermione out of the corner of his eye. Her nervous movements were starting to wear at his nerves. He heard a low hiss from the couch and he turned to smile at his familiar. Nagini had been watching Hermione with as close to a concerned expression as her serpentine face could hold until the Dark Lord assured her that Lutea was quite alright, simply nervous at meeting her mate’s parents. Nagini couldn't understand the complexity of human mating rituals and had simply laid stretched out in the early morning sun on the settee. She had just hissed a reminder to him that Hermione was his filia lito, and that he needed to tend to her distress. Looking over at his Lutea when he heard her begin muttering under her breath, he felt a sense of pride fill him again. She was truly magnificent, this little Mudblood, and he was aware, not for the first time, how truly blessed by Morgana he had been that day that she had broken free from the Snatchers and carelessly traded herself for the freedom of the youngest Weasley boy. He felt quite smug at the foresight he displayed in accepting her offer, despite the clamoring of Bellatrix to allow her the privilege to redeem herself by ridding the world of another piece of filth. She had been quite pleasurable to break, and the power that she wielded still had the capacity to take his breath away, which was no small feat. 

While he didn't particularly relish the thought of Thorfinn claiming her as his bride, he did believe that the witch deserved at least a chance at happiness, and oddly, he found he wished to facilitate it. Knowing as he did the desire she had for a partner to love and cherish her, notions he found childish, he knew that her future lay in the arms of another. She desired a wizard who could be her equal, who would seek her advice, and even more foolishly, actually follow it. That would never be him. He would continue to ensure that her loyalties fell to him alone, but he would grant her this silly little notion. Looking back down at Ginerva, Voldemort grimaced as he was suddenly able to picture clearly the frankly depressing future that she would have been subjected to had, Merlin forbid, he lost the war. Shuddering at the thought of his beautiful girl becoming a Weasley spawning shrew, he turned to her as she passed near him on yet another lap of the room.

Reaching out, he clasped her slender neck gently and forced her to be still.

“Cease your pacing, Lutea. They will be here any moment,” he murmured, his hand tracing the elegant lines of her throat. “Aren't you looking forward to seeing young Thorfinn?”

Hermione laughed nervously, her eyes wide.

“Yes and no, My Lord,” she admitted, swallowing hard against the slight pressure on her throat. “I am eager to see Finn, but the thought of who is accompanying him has my stomach in knots. What if they find me lacking?”

“Then I'll kill them,” Voldemort replied simply, gazing down at her startled face. Suddenly an uncharacteristic grin stretched across his face and Hermione blinked, his handsome features catching her off guard. “I jest, Lutea. I can't just go around killing anyone whenever the mood strikes. I'd simply admit them to St Mungo's, as they would clearly be mentally incompetent. Although it would be quite the coup d'etat for young Thorfinn, wouldn't you think? Becoming Master Rowle and your betrothed all before breakfast? Well done, I say.” He winked at Hermione who started giggling as he removed his hand from her neck.

“I am being a ninny, aren't I?” She asked, her smile faint. “It's just that I've never been in this situation before, and you know I quite dislike the unknown.”

“You have nothing to fear. If anything, you should be more worried about Everlid ever granting you a moments peace. She is quite a loquacious witch, and she is going to be almost rabid in her desire to get to know you better. I will take this opportunity to remind you that proper ladies do not Transfigure their future mother in laws into toadstools. They smile and nod and then conspire to turn their sons and the house elves against them.” Severus intoned from the doorway, his deep voice still gravely with sleep.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at Voldemort at the evidence that Severus had spent the night, but when she turned to greet him, the flames turned green, and Hermione finding herself shrinking like a child into Voldemort, paling slightly as a cloaked figure began to make its way through.

The wizard who was passing his outer robes off to the waiting elf was older, and Hermione surreptitiously took advantage of the opportunity to see how Finn might age. Aldrich Rowle was just as physically imposing as his son, age had not diminished his intimidating air, and although his features were slightly darker, his eyes were the same piercing cornflower blue of Finn's. His hair was cut close to his scalp, but he had a long, neatly trimmed thick beard that lent him a roguish air. He wore black formal robes, with velvet cuffs, and his dragonhide boots were polished to a high shine. He inclined his head to Voldemort, crossing the room to grasp his hand.

“My Lord,” he greeted, his thick voice coating the words like syrup on a treacle tart. 

The Dark Lord shook his hand firmly, and Hermione was intrigued to see that he was shorter than his son. Not drastically so, but enough to make her curious. Aldrich turned to Hermione and looked intently at her for a moment, saying nothing. His apparent scrutiny was just beginning to make her feel uncomfortable when the flames roared green again and both men turned back to watch a smaller form began to appear.

Hermione bit back a groan at the sight of Everlid Rowle stepping over the hearth. Merlin’s beard, was she doomed to spend her life surrounded by witches who were breathtakingly beautiful? The witch handed her cloak to the elf, before turning back to where they were gathered. When she straightened, it was suddenly obvious where Finn had gotten his height. While not tall enough to hint at diluted blood, the witch appeared to be only a few inches shy of six feet tall, dwarfing Hermione just as effectively as her son did. Her long blonde hair, light as her son's, was pulled up in an intricate updo, and there was no trace of any cosmetic magic on her face. Her robes were also black, and they were embroidered with silver thread. Instead of a floral or gaelic pattern, the thread seemed to spell out runes, but Hermione couldn’t make them out from where she was standing. Everlid’s beautiful face broke out in a smile at the sight of her husband standing with the Dark Lord, and she glided across the room, leaning in to kiss Voldemort’s cheeks in greeting. In much of the same way as her husband, Everlid turned to Hermione and simply inspected her, her pale eyes flashing as they unashamedly roamed her body, from tamed curls to pink stilettos and back again. She said nothing, simply turned back to the Dark Lord, and Hermione felt her stomach sinking. What had she done, to be found so obviously lacking? Was it her choice of robes? Her non-Icelandic looks? Sweet Circe, what if they were the type of Purebloods who wouldn't deign to speak to Mudbloods? Could she spend the next sixty years with in-laws who refused to even acknowledge to her? What had Finn been thinking? 

Voldemort cut his eyes sharply to Hermione, taking in her obvious distress, and his hand found its way back to her neck. He squeezed gently, and the pressure served to abruptly derail her destructive train of thought. Everlid’s eyes narrowed slightly at the physical contact, and she opened her mouth as though to speak, but whatever the witch had to say was drowned out by the sound of roaring flames. Hermione felt relief flood her stomach, and she raced to the hearth, throwing herself into Finn’s arms as soon as he came through.

Chuckling softly, he passed his cloak to the waiting elf, and wrapped his arms tightly around her. He nuzzled her curls for a moment, savoring her simple scent of parchment and verbena, enjoying the feel of her in his arms. Hearing bloody Snape clear his throat, Finn stiffened, remembering suddenly in whose company they were currently snuggling. 

Disentangling himself from the tiny witch in his arms, he tucked her arm into his and crossed halfway across the room.

“My Lord,” he said formally, bowing his head to Voldemort. 

“Young Master Rowle,” the Dark Lord replied, his voice equally measured.

Turning to his parents, Finn took a step away from Hermione and gestured toward his parents.

“Mother, Father, this is Mistress Granger. Hermione, may I introduce to you Aldrich and Everlid Rowle, my parents,” Finn made the introductions in that same strange voice, his usual carefree tone replaced by an oddly stilted cadence.

Aldrich took a step towards Hermione, still with a baldly calculating look on his face.

“So this is the witch you desire to be bonded to this time, Thorfinn? I do hope she proves to be more loyal than her predecessor,” the wizard sniffed before turning away slightly.

Hermione felt her cheeks heating at both the crass reminder of Leticia, and the reminder of her new betrothed state. Before she could summon the presence of mind to reply, Everlid spoke up.

“She certainly looks the part, Thorfinn, but she does lack a certain...appeal. I am surprised that you found anything there to be worth sullying the great name of Rowle,” Everlid almost sneered, eyeing Hermione up and down again, this time lingering on her shoes. “Charming. Are you absolutely certain that this is the path you chose to take?”

Hermione felt like an idiot, standing there gaping like a fish at her words, her blood running hot as she felt her fury rise. She looked to Voldemort for support and was further incensed at the frankly amused look on his face. Severus was turned away from the group pouring a shockingly early glass of firewhiskey, and Finn gave no indication that he was at all surprised by their words. Nagini had raised her head curiously from her position on the couch, and Ginny looked quite pleased, even as she gagged quietly. Hermione blinked, once, before her wits returned to her.

“Well met, Master and Mistress Rowle. I apologize for my lack of manners, raised by muggles as I was I appear to have learned them incorrectly. Never fear, this Mudblood is ever so pleased to be joining the Great and Noble House of Rowle,” Hermione smiled then, a predatory gleam coming into her eyes. “My apologies, I misspoke. You're not a Great and Noble House, now are you? No, it's simply the House of Rowle, upstart Purebloods desperately trying to cling to a shockingly vague idea of purity whilst remaining firmly out of reach of Our Lord's Inner Circle. Did you envision me to be your ticket in, hmm?”

Hermione wrapped her arm around Finn's waist, molding her body around his like a common strumpet. 

“This is going to be lovely, I can just see it now. You get to spend the next forty years currying favor to the upstart little pet of the Dark Lord, hoping for the invitations that have eluded you thus far, smiles on your faces and curses in your heart while I ruin the Pureblooded legacy you have worked so hard to manufacture with one little half blooded brat after another. I think I'd quite like to give Mrs. Weasley a run for her galleons, maybe go for an even ten? Wouldn't that be wonderful, Mum and Dad? You don't mind if I call you that, do you?” Hermione grinned evilly as the pair stiffened and clapped her hands. “Oh, we are going to have so much fun together!”

The room was silent as Hermione simmered in her anger. Suddenly, Aldrich burst out laughing, Voldemort not far behind. Everlid wasn't so crass as to guffaw, but she did begin giggling in almost annoyingly attractive way. Confused, Hermione looked up at Finn to see him staring down at her, a wide smile stretching across his face and lust evident in his eyes. She could feel other indications of his pleasure at her words, and she reddened, pulling away from him slightly. 

“Oh no you don't, my little Lioness,” Finn said, his laughter finally breaking free as he pulled her back flush to his firm body. “You are magnificent.”

Bending down, he kissed her thoroughly, and Hermione felt her head swimming from the emotional whiplash she was feeling. 

Hearing the Dark Lord clear his throat now, the pair broke apart, Hermione reddening further as she could hear how loud her breath sounded as she tried to get oxygen back into her lungs. Finn tucked her arm back into his and, winking down at her slightly rumpled appearance, crossed the room to stand before his parents. 

“Father, Mother, this is Hermione,” Finn said, nudging her slightly forward.

Hermione looked resolutely at the wall behind the pair, making a mental note to have the elves tend to the wallpaper just there, it seemed to be a bit lighter than the rest, and that simply would not do.

“Hermione,” Aldrich greeted, sticking out his hand. “It is an immeasurable pleasure to finally meet you. Lucius tells me you are behind the long overdue inclusion of the Creatures to the Wizengamot, and I must thank you for your perseverance in getting that accomplished. I find I am quite anxious to see the change that we will be able to bring about during this year's session.”

Hermione swallowed hard, forcing herself to look into Aldrich's eyes, their familiar color slightly relaxing her frayed nerves. 

“Master Rowle-” she began.

“Father is quite alright with me, dear. I mean no offense, but the thought of 'Dad’ sends chills right up my spine.”

“Father, then,” Hermione smiled tentatively, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. “I merely put the bowtruckle in Lucius’ ear, so to speak. Any and all thanks for their inclusion belong to Our Lord. He was most generous in his dealings with them, especially the Centaurs and Merpeople.”

“Have you thought of including-”

“Tut tut! That is quite enough talk of work before breakfast, I thank you both. Hermione,” Everlid breathed, grasping the witch’s shoulders and holding her at arm's length. “I do apologise for that little scene, my dear, but that was something Aldi and I insisted on, after the fiasco we endured with Leticia. I wanted to make sure that you truly desired my little Thor, and weren't the type of witch to simper at her in-laws. I find I am quite tickled at your ferociousness and find you Gryffindors are quite refreshing in your brutal honesty. You can call me mum if you like dear, I find it simply darling. Now,” she continued, smoothly maneuvering Hermione off of Finn's arm, tucking her into her thin one and beginning to glide out of the room, “you simply must tell me who made you those delightful robes! The cocktail length is simply devine and I hope you don't mind if I have a few sets commissioned for myself. I still have quite the pair of legs, you see, and I find these dour old rags do nothing to show that off…”

The witch continued to prattle on as an alarmed Hermione did her best to keep up, both with the blistering pace set by the long legs in question and the seemingly endless flow of conversation. Shooting a desperate glance back at Finn as they reached the doorway, she groaned when he simply smiled back at her as Voldemort said something to the men, their attention turning back to him.

An hour and a half later, Hermione’s head was beginning to pound slightly while she found herself still struggling to keep up with Everlid's constant chatter. The witch had seated herself next to Hermione and spent the entire meal talking about everything from the precious potions ingredients they cultivated on the Moors of Rowle House ('We have the most delightful patch wild Moon Lily growing there now, wait until you see them! Truly magnificent! Severus has been dying to get his hands on a few, but I will leave it to you to decide if he deserves to have at them.”) to the wedding preparations that were apparently already underway (“We do need to decide if you would like the ceremony here or at Rowle House, dear, as our weather farther north can be so dreadfully unpredictable in the latter half of the year. Both would be equally lovely, of course, but I am obviously partial to home. We must act quickly, for if we should find ourselves in need of a weather witch they are notoriously touchy about being asked to attend at the last minute.”), and Hermione found that she was already exhausted. Itching for her wand, she refrained as she remembered Severus’ words earlier that morning. 

“Does Rowle House have many elves, Mum?” She questioned innocently, pleased at the eager way in which Everlid began to speak of the veritable army that was used to keep Rowle House running in top form. Meeting Severus’ eye from across the table, she had to feign a cough to cover up the snort that emerged at the positively wicked look that crossed his face.

Finally, they were back in the entry parlor, gathering their cloaks in preparation to depart for the Ministry. Before anyone moved toward the fireplace, Aldrich cleared his throat and looked at Finn expectantly. Severus paused in buttoning his robes and looked questioningly at Voldemort. The Dark Lord continued dressing, reaching down to help Ginny into her cloak. Hermione looked at Finn, her own cloak held loosely in her hands. Finn reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a velvet box. Hermione's eyes went wide, even as Everlid clapped her hands in delight. 

Turning to Hermione, Finn blushed slightly as he fiddled with the box. His nervousness was endearing, and she smiled at him encouragingly, confident she had an inkling as to what the box contained. He rubbed the back of his neck almost shyly as he gazed down at her upturned face. 

“It is customary to present gifts during the courting process. I am aware that we are going about this all wrong,” Finn’s blush deepened as Hermione glared sharply at him, and he took a breath before pressing on, “but I would be remiss if I did not give you a token of my very strong affections.”

Opening the box, Hermione gasped as she looked at the piece of jewelry it contained, nestled on a bed of crushed velvet. It was an incredibly delicate looking choker that appeared to be made of goblin silver and black opals, their iridescent surface shimmering in the light coming in from the tall windows. She inhaled as she looked at it, overwhelmed by the beauty of the piece and the thoughtfulness Finn had displayed in picking it out. 

Black opals were highly prized for not only their rarity and otherworldly beauty, but also for the stability that their mere presence offered to volatile potions ingredients. In fact, it was the only gem, outside of pearls and bloodstones, that could be safely worn while brewing complex potions. She was sure that Finn had a vault full of familial jewelry to be used for just this purpose, and she was touched that he had chosen something that she would never have to remove. As she lifted it from it's box, she caught a shimmer of the faintest lilac on the surface, and she knew it would pair beautifully with the amethyst that the Dark Lord had given her. 

Delighted with the gift, and pleased at it's relative modesty, she turned to allow him to place it around her neck. She shivered as he brushed her hair over her shoulders, his breath tickling the sensitive skin on the nape of her neck, and as she looked across the room she caught the faintest tensing of the Dark Lord's shoulders. Finn clasped the choker, his fingers trailing down her to her collarbone, and she smiled warmly up at him.

“It's simply beautiful, Finn, thank you,” she said, frowning slightly as she was just able to make out Severus sending an odd gesture at her from over Finn's shoulder. She searched her brain for the Pureblood etiquette lessons she had endured with Narcissa, and grinned as she realized what Severus was trying to tell her.

“May these jewels remain around my neck as a symbol of our commitment to each other. As long as they as there, let them be symbol to all others that I am yours and you are mine,” Hermione winked up at Finn as she improvised the last bit. “I accept your gift and the promise of your hand, Thorfinn Rowle. May our bond last as long as the goblin silver with which these stones are bound.” 

A huge smile broke out on Finn's face, and he hugged her tightly, quite literally sweeping her off her feet. When he set her down again, he tucked her into his side, and hermione looked up to see Alritch and Everlid standing by the Floo, happy smiles on their faces as Everlid whispered to her husband. The Dark Lord stood by the fire, his own face impassive. The hall clock chimed, and suddenly there was a flurry of activity as those gathered hastened to make their way through the Floo. 

Voldemort and Ginny, Nagini curled around the still slightly ill looking witch's legs, went first, followed by Aldrich. After assuring Everlid that she would be honored to sit by her for the ceremony, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as the talkative witch finally disappeared in a swirl of green flames.

“Good Godric,” she breathed, rubbing her temples. “Does she ever shut up?”

Finn chuckled beside her as Severus reached for the Floo powder.

“Not in my experience. I was sure you were going to hex her when she began talking about the Everblooming Snapping Azaleas. Nasty bloody things, I quite detest them myself,” Finn murmured, helping her into her cloak with a bit more assistance than was truly needed, his fingers lingering on her choker. 

“Severus, do you have any Pain Relief?” Hermione asked, turning to the pale wizard. “I truly hope she doesn't plan on nattering on through the entire service. Bad form or not, I will turn her into a Pygmy Puff if she tries.”

Accepting the vial Severus withdrew from his robes, she downed it quickly, frowning at the glee on Finn's face.

“I mean it, Finn. There is a time and place for incessant conversation and while I may be unsure of the protocol for this event, I will not hesitate.”

“I wouldn't dream of staying your hand, dearest. I assure you, Mother is quite aware of the expectations of such a ceremony. She wouldn't wish to be seen being so crass. Although she would be much easier to stomach as a ball of fluff, so I will ask that you keep your wand at the ready for luncheon, you may yet need it.”

Hermione breathed a laugh as she prepared to toss the Floo powder into the flames. 

“Erm, Hermione?” Finn called, his voice oddly hesitant. “Protocol dictates that I Floo first. I shall be required to accompany you whenever we are in public together.”

Whirling, Hermione glared at Finn, her remembered resentment resurfacing. Behind Finn, Severus chuckled softly, eager for the show the fire in her eyes promised.

“Ah, yes. Protocol. Would this be the same protocol that affianced us from the moment I blindly accepted your seemingly innocent offer to attend this event together? The same protocol that earned you an apothecary and Manor home for the trouble of agreeing to marry me? The protocol,” she hissed, her voice deadly, “the required you to meet in secret with the Dark Lord to discuss my maidenhead as though it were potions ingredients you were purchasing at market?”

Finn paled and took a step back, the rage in her eyes clearly threatening bodily harm.

“Hermione-” he began, only to be cut off by the diminutive witch as she stalked forward, her wand appearing in a clenched fist.

“Listen to me closely, Thorfinn Alexavier Rowle. I am not a commodity to be haggled over. Nor am I an empty headed trophy that you can use to adorn your arm. I am a witch, and not one you wish to piss off, if you are in any way fond of your bollocks. I have bartered my own bride price with My Lord, and we shall be having a very enlightening conversation before this day is through.”

Loosening her grip on her wand, but making no move to tuck it back into her robes, she smiled up at him, and the mercurial shift in her mood terrified Finn much more thoroughly than her words.

“Now, if you please, we are at risk of being late. After you,” she simpered, gesturing to the fireplace with an innocent look on her face.

Finn’s gaze darted several times from Hermione to Severus, the wizard’s eyes appearing to water from held back laughter, before slowly making his way to the fireplace. He glanced back at her one last time, shuddering at the placid look on her face before tossing the powder into the flames. 

“Ministry of Magic, Atrium,” he called out in a clear voice as Hermione snapped her wand in his direction. The wizard twisted out of sight before Severus could make out the spell she had cast, and after he disappeared he looked to her for clarification.

“It was just a simple visual impairment spell, Severus, don't look at me like that. He will be forced to watch the ceremony through what the Muggles lovingly like to call 'drunk goggles’. Outside of a dizzying loss of depth perception and an uncomfortable feeling of the ground swaying beneath him slightly, he'll be fine. It should wear off before luncheon. The nerve of that man! Allowing his parents to make a fool of me like that! He's lucky I didn't hex him bald,” Hermione snapped, stamping her small foot in frustration.

“Never underestimate a Gryffindor,” was all he replied, gesturing towards the fireplace. “After you, Princess.”

The ceremony was beautiful, as Hermione knew it would be. She had shed more than a few tears at the speeches, by Marnie, teachers at Pretannike and Hogwarts’ Professors. She had lost her composure entirely when Thaddeus Nott had spoken, with a softly crying Isadora, a red eyed Theo and a stoic Pieter at his side. Everlid had taken her hand then, and Hermione drew comfort from the older witch, who had, just as Finn had predicted, been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the whole of the ceremony. Finn himself was sitting at an odd angle, his face scrunched up oddly as he tried to see clearly. Hermione had found it gratifying that he had not cast the counter jinx, choosing instead to bear his unexpected punishment with grace. Hermione was tucked into his side, although the damned protocol wouldn't allow him to place a comforting arm across her shoulders. 

As the ceremony drew to a close, Lucius gave a touching speech, and Theo came back onto the stage, holding Pieter's hand. Casting a Sonorous charm, he scooped up his brother and held the slightly too large boy on his hip.

“Pria had an incredible ability to bring joy into any situation, even the life of her sullen and reluctant older brother,” he smiled faintly and the crowd chuckled softly, relieved at the break from the somber ceremony. In honor of that joy, we would like to share with you her legacy of laughter.”

Both boys took ahold of Theo's wand and they shared a moment, their foreheads touching as their eyes closed. 

“Bullesco Rosea!” they shouted in unison, and suddenly, punk bubbles in fantastical shapes began pouring out of Theo's wand. Pieter laughed as a bubble chicken landed on Theo's head. His carefree giggle served to grant permission to this gathered to begin laughing as well, and the room was soon filled with giggles. Hermione made eye contact with Seth and Kathryn, Kerrie Beth's parents, and was gratified to see them both sharing a small chuckle as a bubble monkey used them as a tree. 

After the bubbles had mostly disappeared, most of the attendees milled about the atrium, talking quietly. Hermione was standing with the Dark Lord, Ginny, Finn, his parents, Luna and the Malfoy's, and she found herself glaring at the sideways glances that were being shot her way. Voldemort, Lucius and Aldrich were deep in conversation about potential policy changes, and she felt exposed, unable to draw strength from Finn's touch. Wretched societal expectations, they could all go hang. She looked to where Finn was standing, looking like he desired to be anywhere else as he talked to his mother, and silently cursed the antiquated rules that governed Pureblood society. Wishing for nothing more than to reach for Finn's hand, she clenched her own hand into a fist and blinked at Narcissa.

“I apologise, Narcissa, what was that?” She asked, looking around the witch to send a death glare at yet another societal matron. 

“I asked about that lovely necklace. Is it new?” Narcissa inquired, looking faintly amused at Hermione's discomfort.

“It is. Finn gave it to me just before we came here this morning,” Hermione said, her hand coming up to caress the smooth stones.

“It's a beautiful piece, Hermione. Finn has great taste in betrothal jewelry. Much better than Draco's first attempt,” Luna giggled, nudging the wizard with her hip.

“First and last time I allowed Father to help me pick out jewelry, I promise you,” Draco grinned as he gazed adoringly down at Luna. “In hindsight, I should've known better. My Lune isn't one to be wooed by pretty pieces.”

“What did he chose?” Finn questioned, having finally broken free from his conversation with Everlid.

“The first time? Or after I attempted to sell the monstrosity at Borgin’s?” Luna smiled demurely.

Finn startled at the revelation, and the group shared a laugh. 

“My first betrothal gift was the traditional Malfoy tiara,” Draco began, and Hermione laughed again as she imagined the scene. “after receiving a call from Mr. Burke as to the value of the piece, as well as the validity of Luna's ownership of it, I made a second selection.”

Luna brushed her long hair back over her shoulders and tilted her neck to allow them a closer look at the earrings that graced her ears. They were oddly cut fluorite stones, in a faint orange, with jade accents near the top. They were slightly mismatched, but Hermione thought they looked slightly familiar. 

“Are those what I think they are?” She questioned, smiling widely at a memory that was tickling the back of her mind. 

“They are rough cut and polished fluorites, from the middle ages. They have been in the Malfoy vaults for as long as anyone can remember, but their acquisition history has been lost. They are used in meditation, to help clear away the chaos of a creative mind. When I saw them, I knew that they would be perfect.”

“I like them,” Luna said, an impish look finding it's way to her face. “With a little bit of transfiguration they were easily camouflaged as dirigible plums while I was in school.”

“I knew it!” Hermione burst out, before a questioning look came across her face. “When did you get them?”

“Before I left for Hogwarts,” Luna replied placidly, tucking a strand of Draco's hair behind his ear.

Hermione was shocked, not for the first time, at the reminder of Luna's long deception while they were in school.

“Imagine, if you please, an unaccompanied eleven year old witch standing at the counter of Borgin and Burkes, wishing to sell a priceless Malfoy heirloom, simply because it was 'not to her taste.’ I almost fainted when I heard the news,” Narcissa said, shaking her head fondly. “Although I knew in that moment that she would make a fine Lady Malfoy, as we are never ones to bend to the will of our men. I myself did something similar when Lucius presented me with my betrothal gift, although he was never able to recover them. The man does seem to be oddly fond of tiaras.”

The group laughed again, and Hermione felt a tug on her arm.

“Excuse me, I hate to break up such a lively group, but Hermione, there is someone I would like to introduce you to,” Everlid interrupted, her beautiful smile greeting them. “Narcissa, you look simply lovely. Hermione tells me that you introduced her to the seamstress who designed these magnificent robes. I find I am quite cross that you didn't introduce me as well.”

“Nonsense, Evie. If I had done so, you would have no excuse to force Hermione to play hooky so you could spend the day shopping,” Narcissa replied, a wicked little smirk on her face. 

Hermione pulled a face at Narcissa while Everlid laughed delightedly and turned to her future mother in law, murmuring goodbyes to the group. Finn fell into step just slightly behind them, on Hermione’s right, as they began to cross the atrium.

Before they were able to reach their destination, there was a resounding boom, and smoke began to fill the cavernous space. Hermione had her wand in hand in an instant, and felt Finn tug her behind him as they took up position back to back, scanning the room for the threat. Suddenly, a scream was heard to her left, and her head whipped just in time to see a witch fall to the ground. Behind her, a sole arm raised in triumph, stood Charlie Weasley, a ragtag group of fighters behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first cliffhanger! I'm so proud!


	16. Ignition

Everything seemed to freeze for a moment and Hermione felt the air leave her lungs. Even missing an arm, Charlie looked so familiar, so much like the side of her that she kept locked away that her mind whirled as she took in his features. She scanned his face quickly, her mind taking an odd comfort in the fact that he looked relatively well. She had limited interaction with Percy the Prat, and her dealings with Ron were less than pleasurable, so she felt an odd sort of tugging on her heart when she saw his trademark red hair. Seamus Finnegan stood just next to him, a fierce look on his face. She didn't recognize any of the fighters standing behind them, but they all looked quite young. They shared a rangy, gritty look, one she knew all too well. It was a look that could be crafted only by months living on the run, with never enough to eat and nights spent sleeping with one eye open. Charlie, though just as haggard, looked like home, like cheerful evenings spent in a shared common room, secrets whispered over school books. A wistful, insidious thought crept into her mind, reminding her of all that she had lost.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Ginny screamed out Charlie's name, the relief at seeing her brother alive obvious in her tone, and rage replaced the flickering tenderness in her heart as the scenes from Pretannike ran through her mind. She snarled as she lifted her wand, but before she could act, Finn stepped forward awkwardly, still suffering her angustae oculis curse, blocking her line of sight. 

“Move!” She hissed, intent on destroying the wizard standing before her. 

“Look at his feet,” Finn replied, his voice low.

Hermione did as instructed, and noticed the glowing blue stones as his feet, the runes carved in them glowing brightly. Even from the distance she stood across the atrium, she could see the protective etchings. 

“Smart,” she murmured reluctantly, able to appreciate the strategy in creating a ring of protection when entering a battle so shockingly outnumbered. Wands were drawn all around the room, and a flash of green light darted toward the group. Voldemort's wand moved quick as lightning as he Conjured a sparrow to take the rebounded killing curse that had been directed at the Order members, shooting a blazing look at the wizard who had cast it. The tall wizard gulped before kneeling beside the witch who had been hit, running his hands over her frantically. Hermione spared a look at the furious faces that filled the room and wondered what had tempted them to come here, what prize was so great that they had undertaken what was surely a suicide mission.

The witch who's cry had alerted them to the Phoenix's in their midst moaned, and the sharply dressed wizard helped her as she attempted to sit up. Her arm hung at an odd angle, and Hermione could tell it was badly broken. 

“Master Weasley!” Voldemort's voice carried over the crowd, sounding as though he was greeting a friend, not an enemy who was obviously there to do harm. “How lovely to see you! And looking so whole!” The Dark Lord smirked as Charlie snarled, clearly annoyed. 

“Hello Tom,” Charlie spat, Hermione bristling in annoyance at the casual way the Order insisted on referring to the Dark Lord. “What's the occasion?” The wizard sneered as grumbling filled the room.

Voldemort stiffened at his rudeness, Hermione knowing that he felt the deaths of Kerrie Beth and Prianka quite keenly, and his voice took on a commanding tone. 

“Everyone out,” he said simply, lowering the anti-Disapparation wards with a wave of his hand and pressing his wand to Severus’ Mark, the wizard baring his arm without needing to be told. Most of the occupants in the room did just that, and in moments the room was empty, save for four members of the Inner Circle, Lucius, Severus, Bellatrix and Draco, along with Luna, who was behind Draco, and Finn. 

Bellatrix cackled at the group of fighters, clearly spoiling for a fight.

“Hello dearies,” she sing-songed in her slightly unhinged way. “Come all this way to die, have we? How terribly convenient for us!”

Seamus glared at the buxom witch, hatred evident on his face. 

“Go to hell, you daft bint.”

“Oh, but I insist, you first!” Bella retorted, twirling with her wand in her hand. 

“Enough,” the Dark Lord drawled, his voice sounding almost bored. “I find I am most curious, Charles, what could've been so tempting that you accepted a mission that was so obviously going to cost you your life?”

Voldemort began to walk slowly toward the group of five, a predatory grin breaking out on his face as all but Charlie and Seamus shrunk into themselves. 

“The Anti-Disapparation wards are still disabled. If any of you wish to live to fight another day I give you my word that you will not be pursued by my Death Eaters. This is your only chance.”

Two of those cowering, a pretty witch and a muddy haired wizard who looked shockingly young exchanged glances, terrified looks on their faces. 

“I'm sorry, Charlie,” the girl with long raven hair said. “I'm not ready for to die.”

Charlie nodded once, his face impassive, and she Disapparated with a crack. 

“Luna?” The Dark Lord drawled, almost lazily.

“Yes, My Lord?” The bubbly witch replied, looking up from where she was bent over at the waist braiding her hair into a crown, conjuring Alfirin flowers and tucking them in at random. Despite the seriousness of the current standoff, Hermione heard herself snort at Luna's ability to remain aloof no matter the situation, and felt two sets of eyes on her, Lucius’ predictably disapproving ones along with Charlie's hate filled glare. The witch finished her crown quickly, standing upright to look directly at the Dark Lord.

“Kill her,” he said simply.

Pure delight broke out over Luna's face even as a dark look filled her eyes. She stood on tiptoe to kiss Draco's cheek and smiled up at Voldemort. 

“With pleasure, My Lord,” she replied, a radiant smile on her face. She removed her wand in preparation to Apparate when Draco spoke up.

“Leave her in no more than five pieces, love,” he grinned, unaffected when she glared at him.

“Spoilsport,” she retorted before cracking out of sight. 

“You gave your word!” Seamus burst out, his face a quite unhealthy shade of red.

“That I did, Finnegan. However, I am not without honor. Young Ms. Lovegood is not yet a marked Death Eater. Let this be a life lesson for you, boys. Always be specific,” the Dark Lord grinned then, and the remaining Death Eaters chuckled. 

“Can we please get on with this?” Hermione asked, her eyes still burning with rage as she glared at Charlie. “I would hate to be late to luncheon.”

“Stay out of this, you uppity little bitch,” a blonde wizard with a curious scar across his face spat at her. “How dare you even show your face after what you did?”

“I could show you much more than my face if you would be so kind as to remove those stones,” Hermione smiled at him, wiggling her wand in her hand as Bellatrix cackled again, Hermione wincing at the sound.

Charlie raised a hand, his only remaining hand, Hermione noted with not a little glee, and the retort died on the wizard’s lips.

'Calm yourself, Davidsson. She's not worth it. She's just Voldemort's pampered little princess now,” Charlie said, his eyes focused on Hermione. 

Rage like fire exploded in her brain as she worked to process his words, but before she could make sense of what her mind was trying to tell her over the roaring in her ears, Voldemort waved his wand again and Ginny rose from the floor, her feet kicking as her supply of oxygen was removed by the pressure on her throat. She clawed at her neck, her eyes bulging, and looked desperately at Charlie. Voldemort gestured and Ginny floated nearer to the pair of fighters, and the sleeve of her robes slipped down, revealing a vibrant Dark Mark. 

Her brother cried out, and Voldemort dropped her to the stone floor unceremoniously, her head bouncing off the unforgiving surface. Charlie took a few steps forward as Ginny let out a sob, scrambling to right her robes, but just as he was about to breach the protective barrier, he stopped, his face tormented. 

“Charlie,” Ginny rasped, raising her head slightly, tears mingling with the blood streaming down the side of her face. “I'm so sorry.”

“It's not your fault, Gin,” he replied in a strangled voice. “You didn't choose this,” he spat, glaring once again at Hermione. 

Hermione simply shrugged, as Charlie spoke nothing but the truth. She certainly hadn't expected this to be the result, but she couldn't deny she was quite content with her the outcome of her decision that day. 

“Didn't choose this?” Voldemort questioned, turning away from Charlie to cross over to Ginny, sparing an absent minded pat for Nagini as he passed. Hermione saw Finn stiffen and turn his wand on Charlie when the Dark Lord turned his back to an enemy, however drastically outnumbered the foe may be. 

“I'm afraid that simply isn't the case, now is it?” He murmured, kneeling and trailing his hand down Ginny's cheek before caressing her throat.

Charlie yelled “Get your hands off her!” as Voldemort grasped her slim neck and hauled her to her feet. 

“Come now, Ginerva,” Voldemort soothed as the witch swayed and tried to calm herself from the shock of seeing her brother. “Don't you owe your brother the truth? Tell him how you begged to sit at my feet when Draco dragged you before me, sniveling over the deaths of your disgusting little family. How you crawled for the privilege of continuing your pathetic existence, cried for the honor of serving me.”

Ginny's eyes went wide as she stared at the Dark Lord, the fear and guilt in them warring for dominance. Her lips remained closed, however, and Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

“Should we tell your brother of how desperately you fought for the mark that graces your arm? How you killed a witch with nothing more than your bare hands, so deliciously desperate to prove your worth? Perhaps we could remind him that I cannot Mark those who do not crave it. That it must be willingly received, that the promises it contains bind you to me, mind, soul, and body?” He wrapped his hand in her hair as he spoke and yanked, Charlie snarling at the rough treatment of his precious baby sister, but his protests died in his throat as Ginny let out an unwilling moan at the action. She bit her lip, her hands fisting at her side as the Dark Lord smiled fully, his eyes flashing red at the sound. He tugged more fiercely, and the witch moaned again, with purpose, the sound lower in her throat, her cheeks pink and her eyes glazed.

Charlie was being held back by a disgusted looking Seamus, who was struggling to keep the wizard from breaking the circle of protection they had created for themselves. Lucius tutted softly, averting his eyes from the spectacle Ginny was creating, and Hermione’s eyes sharpened as she looked at Charlie.

“See there, Charlie?” she called, smiling evilly. “I may be a princess, but little Ginerva is a pet. Would you like to see how My Lord makes her purr?”

Those were the words that ignited the powder keg. She had no sooner finished her sentence than Charlie snapped, lunging for her with a yell and shattering the barrier the runes had created. Hermione was ready for him, sending an Entrail Expelling curse his way with alacrity, hissing as he sidestepped the jet of light. He responded with a blast of purple light, Hermione recognizing the trademark hue of a blood boiling curse even as she lunged right and it whipped past her cheek. 

Finn yelled in primal rage as the blonde wizard, Davidsson, sent a blasting hex right on it's heels, pulling her out of it's path while not interrupting the acid curse she was aiming at Charlie in a manner that spoke of years of fighting together, rather than the mere months it had actually been. 

Beams of light and shouring filled the cavernous space as the battle began in earnest, Voldemort binding Ginny before turning his attention to Seamus, who had targeted him like a wizard possessed. The Irish wizard was quick on his feet, and Hermione was surprised to see he was successfully holding his own against both Voldemort and Severus. Ginny was screaming herself hoarse, but no one spared even a glance her direction, bound and wandless, she was less than useless. Lucius and Draco were battling the young anonymous wizard, although Hermione suspected they were merely toying with the poor boy. Bellatrix was practically dancing as she parlayed with Davidsson, the wizard giving as good as he got, but clearly losing ground.

Finn and Hermione dueled with Charlie, the wizard clearly having lost sight of whatever goal they had come here to achieve when he was confronted with the truth of his sister's relationship with the Dark Lord. The curses he was flinging at them were no longer toying with the Dark, but fully black, and Hermione was even now, engaged as she fully was in this fight, taking note of any unfamiliar incantations to study further later. Finn was holding his own, but all of his curses were just slightly wide, his vision not yet returned to normal. Hermione turned to him, and raised her wand to cast the counter curse, berating herself for her silly trick earlier.

Just then, the impractical heel of a pretty pink shoe caught in the gap between two flagstones and she stumbled, her vision sharpening, just in time for a cursed flame to strike her right hand. She cried out in pain as the fire engulfed her arm up to the elbow, dropping her wand and falling to her knees. Finn fell to his knees beside her, smothering the flames with his dress robes, while casting the counter curse to extinguish the flames. He spun on Charlie, wand raised, the Avada growling from his throat as he advanced on the flaming haired wizard, when suddenly Charlie ducked and cast again, his aim deadly as he sent a Invorto curse at the still wobbling Finn. 

Hermione cried out as soon as she saw the sickly yellow light emerging from the end of Charlie's wand, recognizing the spell that would turn Finn inside out immediately. Thinking quickly, she threw one of her shoes at Finn, striking him in the shoulder. The surprise of the blow was barely enough to cause Finn to stumble, but combined with the effects of her earlier curse it was enough to save him. Charlie rallied quickly, casting, and successfully striking, Finn with an Imperious curse. 

The burly wizard straightened then, and began to make his way toward Hermione. Hermione’s eyes watered as she shot to her feet, clutching her injured arm to her chest, and looking frantically about for her wand, which had escaped the flames but had rolled away. Merlin be praised, Charlie began to cross the room toward where Seamus was still dueling Severus and Voldemort, and Hermione knew that he wouldn't be able to spare the mental ability that would be required to have Finn casting curses at her. She began to run, her blood chilling as she heard Finn chuckle darkly at her futile attempts to flee him. 

She darted about the atrium, her shoes long discarded, casting her eyes about for anywhere she could find cover. She was suddenly grateful for the reality altering curse she had cast, as it made Finn, who was clearly already trying to throw off the curse, much slower than he would've been normally. She had managed to create a distance of about ten meters when she heard Finn cry out, and spared a glance over her shoulder. A scream tore out of her throat involuntarily when she saw Severus with his wand pointed at the wizard, having just cast some sort of non-lethal spell in an attempt to distract him from his prey. She turned in time to spot a gap in the wall behind a tapestry and she lunged for the spot, pulling the cloth behind her just in time to hear Finn's shout of rage at having lost her.

She peeked out from behind the banner and saw him stalking unsteadily to Severus, his wand now raised as he sent curses hurling towards her potions Master, the curse feeding his existing annoyance with the meddling wizard, and while Severus was clearly unwilling to cause her fiance permanent damage, he was quickly running out of options. Her head shot up as she heard Bellatrix's shout of glee, just in time to watch Davidsson fall at her feet, his head bent at an unnatural angle. Almost simultaneously, the young wizard who had been caught between the Malfoy's screamed in pain as his limbs contorted wildly, Hermione recognizing the effects of the blood freezing curse and averting her eyes seconds before the wizard’s limbs exploded from the pressure in his veins.

Seamus was standing back to back with Charlie now, the pair dueling with Voldemort and Lucius, Draco now busy attempting to break the Imperius that still held Finn in it's clutches. Hermione watched, enraptured, as the Order members cast Avada Kedrava’s with no mercy, and marveled again at the Darkness that had infiltrated the Light. Bellatrix shot an icy blue light at the pair, and although Charlie saw the Galceium curse coming and lunged out of the way, Seamus did not, and as a result was now frozen in a block of ice. It was so uncharacteristic of Bellatrix to cast such a relatively tame spell that Lucius was momentarily distracted, giving Charlie the opening he needed to send a lacerating hex at the Minister’s torso when Lucius turned to gape at Bellatrix. 

Lucius fell to the stone floor with a cry, his arms wrapped around his stomach, blood pouring out onto the flagstones. Draco rushed to his father's side and threw up a bright blue shield before he began singing the healing spells softly, leaving Severus alone in his battle against the still Imperioused Thorfinn. Bella recognized the situation immediately and rushed to take Draco's place, but Hermione was instantly worried at the ability of the crazed witch to sort out the mind of another. Acting almost without thought, she darted from her hiding place, making eye contact with Severus as soon as the tapestry fell back into place behind her. He growled at her, his rage at her putting herself back in danger evident on his face. 

Finn spotted Hermione almost immediately, and he began to make his way across the atrium, Hermione relieved to see that while he was steady now on his feet, he was struggling with the effort of traversing the atrium, his mind clearly beginning to win his fight of the compulsion curse. She spotted her wand lying against the baseboard near where she had lost it, the vine almost completely blending in with the oak. She raced toward it, her eyes darting back to Finn as he advanced on her, still partially under the effects of the curse, Severus and Bellatrix unable to deter him any longer. 

Severus shot a curse at Finn's back and Bella turned back to where Voldemort was battling Charlie, the red haired wizard finally lagging. The witch screamed when Charlie pulled a sword from his cloak, Hermione freezing in place as she recognized the Sword of Gryffindor, the memory of Harry entering the tent clutching it hitting her like a ton of bricks. She felt a dizzying sense of deja Vu when Bella began ranting about the sword, demanding to know how he had gotten it. She was shocked to learn from her ranting that the idiotic witch had placed the sword back in her vault, apparently leaning nothing from the night Harry died.

Suddenly she felt arms like a vise wrap around her shoulders, and froze as Finn's familiar scent filled her nose. She began struggling to free herself, trying everything in her power to get loose of Finn's crushing grip. She saw a beam of white light strike the wall above her head before she heard Severus yell “Stupify!” She pitched forward, still trapped in Finn's frozen arms and unable to protect herself as she crashed face first into the floor.

Moaning, she heard Severus run over to them, turning the pair over and prying Hermione loose. He cast an Episkey at her nose and Hermione squeaked in pain as her nose reset in place. 

“Leave the rest,” she rasped out, lunging for her wand and struggling to her feet. “Healing runes, remember?” she offered by way of explanation as she wrapped Severus’ hand loosely in her injured one and began running back across the atrium. 

Draco was still frantically trying to heal Lucius as the pair made their way to where Charlie was dueling Voldemort and Bellatrix. Charlie ducked a deadly stream of red light just as Ginny broke free from the spell binding her and lunged at Bellatrix. The startled witch dropped her wand at the physical attack and the pair rolled around on the floor, Bella howling in outrage, the Dark Mark on her arm preventing her from harming Voldemort, and therefore by extension, Ginny.

In that moment, Charlie dropped his wand and raised the sword from where he had tucked it in the waist of his pants, bringing it down with deadly accuracy, severing Nagini’s head from her body. Voldemort fell to the ground as his soul was released from the Horcrux, having been unable to separate the fragment of his soul from his living familiar like he had done with the Diadem of Ravenclaw the previous year. His intense physical pain at the loss sent shock waves through the Dark Marks they all carried, and almost as one they fell to their knees. 

Taking advantage of their momentary weakness, Charlie raced over to Ginny, throwing down the sword and pulling her awkwardly to her feet. 

“Let's go!” he cried urgently, trying to tug her one handedly toward the Floo, for although the Dark Lord had brought the Anti-Apparition wards back up, he had not closed off the fireplaces. 

Ginny however, was frozen in place, anguish on her face as she looked at Voldemort who was just regaining his feet. 

“Ginny!” Charlie cried impatiently, unwilling to see the doubt on his sister's face. “Now!”

She pulled her hand from Charlie’s grip as those in the room stood, and took a few steps back from him.

“I won't,” she said sadly, turning back to where Voldemort was standing, slightly grey but with a look of triumph on his face. “I'm so sorry.” She whispered as Voldemort raised his wand.

With a flash of green light, the battle ended, Charlie thudding to the ground at his sobbing sister's feet as Hermione rushed toward Voldemort, Bellatrix and Severus not far behind her. It was obvious that the Avada had taken its toll on his magic, weakened as it was from the ripping of his soul. He slumped into Severus as Lucius and Draco joined them, the elder Malfoy still clutching his haphazardly healed wound. Floos roared to life as Death Eaters poured into the room, their Marks having alerted them that the Dark Lord was injured. Hermione stopped where she stood, unwilling to draw attention to Voldemort's weakened state.

Seeing his faithful gathering around him, Voldemort straightened, not without effort, and addressed the crowd.

“We have won the battle,” he began needlessly, as the bodies strewn across the room painted a clear picture of the outcome of the fight. Hermione grimaced as she looked at the young wizard, his torso lying at Alecto’s feet, the witch unaware or unconcerned that she was standing in the ground remains of his limbs. 

“In doing so we have suffered a great loss, one that has caused me no little pain.” He gestured toward Nagini's body where it lay on the floor, Narcissa standing over her, a hand over her mouth, the corpse already beginning to decompose as the magic that had extended her life no longer held. 

He turned to Seamus then, still encased in his block of ice, his eyes blazing red, and raised his pale wand.

“My Lord, wait!” Hermione burst out, rushing forward to partially close the gap between them.   
Voldemort stared down at her, shocked that she would dare interrupt.

“My Lord, please,” Hermione began, arms raised placatingly, wincing slightly as the skin on her arm began to tingle, the runes already working to reknit the tender flesh. “Seamus will have information on the whereabouts of the remaining Order members. To kill him now would be a waste.”

The Dark Lord lowered his wand slowly, a pensive look on his face. 

“Not to mention,” Hermione continued, her eyes blazing, “He wouldn't feel a thing if we were to kill him now, and I still have research to validate, My Lord.”

“Theo,” he called out, knowing the sadistic wizard would be their best option at unfreezing the man without incurring further damage. “Take care of...this,” he waved his hand wearily toward the large block of ice just to his right. “Zabini, when he is done please escort him to our finest accommodations. We will have much to talk about.”

The wizards rushed forward, whispering among themselves to form the best plan of action as Lucius turned to the gathered Death Eaters, relief clear on all their faces at seeing their Lord alive and well, the pain that had radiated through their shared Marks had been debilitating. 

“Brethren,” he began, his voice a caress as it wound through the atrium. “We have dealt the Light a mighty blow today. They struck is on a day of mourning, but in doing so have given us a new reason to celebrate. Please, let us continue on to our planned luncheon. We shall spare these cowards no further thought.”

Agreements rang out around the great room as those gathered began to make their way back the public fireplaces, Thaddeus Nott deep in conversation with Regulus at the front of the group. Narcissa rushed to Lucius, taking his hand as she spoke in low tones with Draco. Hermione resumed her trek to Voldemort, who was now visibly lagging, stopping again when she saw Ginny kneeling over the body of her brother. She inclined her head to Severus, and the wizard grimaced before making his way over to the pair to remove Ginny back to Nathair Manor, to await Voldemort's punishment for her attack on Bellatrix. 

Hermione turned away from where Voldemort was standing, supported by Lucius and talking quietly with Bella and Narcissa, clearly intent to act as though nothing was amiss while the crowds were waiting to Floo to Nott House. She made her way through the crowd silently, not wishing to draw attention to her destination. Finn’s unconscious body had only remained unnoticed because of his position on the floor so near the wall and away from where the bodies were strewn.

She knelt as she reached him, lifting his head with a groan as the still healing skin broke open. Her eyes filled with tears as she saw the cuts and bruises covering his face, remnants of the spell work Severus had used when he was attempting to distract him from his pursuit of Hermione. 

Nestling him on her thighs, she murmured “Renervate,” letting out a sigh of relief as his eyes fluttered open.

“Hermione,” Finn winced as he looked up at her, his eyes full of guilt. “I cant-”

“Shhh,” Hermione shushed him, placing a finger on his lips. “You weren't in control of yourself. You began fighting the curse right away, and even with someone else controlling your actions you refused to hurt me. Even when you finally reached me you simply restrained me, you never even raised your wand although my back was turned and I was utterly defenseless.” Hermione chose not to remind him of the Dark Mark that graced his arm, the bond he had made to Voldemort ensuring, much like Bellatrix had found in her fight with Ginny, that he would have been unable to physically harm her, and would in fact have aimed any curses he shot at her back to his own body.

“I couldn't fight off the mental commands of a one armed blood traitor?” Finn laughed, although there was only bitterness and anger in the sound. “That is nothing to be proud of, Hermione.”

“You fought to free yourself as soon as the word left his lips, Finn. A spell cast at almost point blank range by a wizard who managed to destroy the last remaining Horcrux with an enchanted sword while battling the Dark Lord himself with only one arm,” Hermione leaned down and pressed her lips to a cut near his hairline. “I don't blame you for this.”

“I should've been able to fight him off!” Finn raged, pushing himself off her lap and sitting away from her. “Save your excuses.”

He stood quickly, anger simmering on his handsome features and he stalked off toward where Voldemort was now sitting on a Conjured armchair, Bella kneeling at his feet while Severus spoke to him with a concerned look on his face. Hermione didn't see the Malfoy's, and assumed that they had left for St. Mungo's to get Lucius’ injury properly healed. Voldemort was watching Theo work on reversing Bella’s spellwork without harming the wizard trapped within, and her heart sank, as she watched Finn came to a stop next to Blaise, knowing that he would blame himself for his actions, no matter her words. 

She stood then, brushing off her robes and making her way to where her shoes were lying on the stone floor. Slipping back into them, she made eye contact with Voldemort, her heart tearing as she saw the effect that losing the last piece of his soul had on him. His handsome face was grey, and the lines that had appeared so distinguished just that morning were now so pronounced that he looked like a corpse. His hands shook slightly as he gestured angrily, obviously arguing with Severus about something. Her breath started to race as she thought of how close they had come to losing him. 

If Charlie had been able to think of anything other than getting his sister to safety, he had had the perfect opportunity to kill the Dark Lord, as he was dangerously weak when that piece of soul broke free. What would've become of her then? Killed, most likely, if Neville had anything to say about it. It wasn't even herself she was most concerned about, if she was being honest. The world that she was apart of now was something that she was proud of. Some work still needed to be done, that was true, but it was a far cry from the Mudblood death camps and half blood slaves that she had been trained to expect. 

Her heart stuttered as she thought of the children at Pretannike, and she was grateful that they had all returned to the school immediately following the ceremony. They had seen enough bloodshed. She crossed the room quickly, placing her hand on Bellatrix's shoulder when she reached the group to avoid startling the still high strung witch. 

“My Lord,” she began, her voice full of unshed tears. 

“Lutea,” the wizard breathed, opening his arms to her. 

Hermione crawled into his lap, burying her head in his chest as she cried, the hand on the back of her neck allowing her to share her thoughts with him, needing the catharsis of reliving her tumultuous emotions when she spotted Charlie, the terror she felt as Finn chased her, and the much more recent, but by far the most overwhelming, realization that she almost lost her Lord.

“Such fuss,” Voldemort wheezed, his tone breathy. “There was a day when you would've been standing beside Master Weasley, would you have mourned so then?”

Pushing off his chest gently, she sat up, rubbing at her face almost angrily.

“I would not have the ability, My Lord. I would be lying on the floor with my compatriots, safe in Morgana’s arms. I weep now at the reminder of your mortality, at the audacity of those who claim to fight for the side of Good. Why are they still so blind to the progress we have made? Our world is secure now, free from the influences of those who would wish to harm us, who would be threatened by the power we hold. Why do they insist on clinging to silly notions of peaceful coexistence? Even I, with muggle blood beating in my veins, know that their world is not safe for us.”

Voldemort caressed her face, his fingers catching her chin and forcing her to look into his eyes. 

“They cling to their outdated ideas because it gives them purpose. Much like those around you still believe that their pedigree affords them rights that allude others, they desire a reason to be better than those around them.”

Voldemort looked to where Theo, Blaise and Finn were beginning the process of thawing Seamus and continued, his voice soft as Hermione and Bellatrix hung on every word. “Even young Thorfinn suffers from such grandiose thoughts. He rages now because of his belief that Master Weasley was somehow inferior to himself, simply on the basis of a long ago choice that shifted his place in his society. Their prejudices are not our own, Lutea. When I first realized the potential for greatness that our society was capable of, I played to the desires of those who could help me achieve my goals, that is true, but I did not truly believe, even then, that our success would be achieved through dominance. I have only ever fought for the protection of those who have been blessed by Merlin, knowing that it is simply our magical ability that has allowed us to thrive.”

Hermione nodded somewhat impatiently, having heard many versions of this speech during her years with Voldemort.

“But if even I can be made to see the truth in those words, I who had so very little to gain and so much to lose then, why can't also they? Why do they insist on fighting?” she asked, her voice quiet as she looked to where Seamus now lay slumped in a puddle of water on the floor, Blaise casting diagnostic spells as Theo huddled with Finn.

“That is a question for another day, dearest,” Voldemort replied, his hand trailing over the choker she wore, his touch feather light and his tone distant. “Give my regards to the Nott's, please,” he said, turning to where Severus now stood to his right.

“But you...I can't,” Hermione began, stammering as Voldemort nudged her off his lap and stood slowly, his hands clenched on Severus’ arm.

“You can, and you will, Princess,” Snape intoned as he helped the Dark Lord to his feet, his voice commanding and his face hard. “We have claimed victory today, that is to be certain. Now, however, is a new battle. One that can only be won by the image only you can maintain, one of a bubbly witch who is flush with both new love and victory. Imagine the insidious doubt that would creep over the public when a victory is announced but the victors remain hidden away. Who can be sure of the truth if it is not sitting prettily in their midst, giggling with her friends and scandalizing society with her hasty betrothal?” 

Severus winked at her then, and she blanched at the thought of sitting next to Finn, or Gods save her, Everlid, for an entire luncheon. How could she pretend as though all was well when her Lord was in so much pain and Finn could barely stand to look at her?

“Men are silly little creatures, poppet,” Bellatrix remarked, tucking Hermione’s arm in hers. “Their pride is a strong thing. Luckily for us, their lust is stronger, or they would be no use to us at all. Let's remind him of what is truly important, hmm?”

Allowing herself to be led away from Voldemort and Severus, she made her way to the wizards, her heart clenching as she saw the set of Finn's jaw. Squaring her shoulders as they reached them, she squeezed Bella's arm in thanks as she released her to approach Finn. Smiling up at him, she spoke, her voice hesitant.

“My Lord has ordered us to luncheon, Finn,” she began, blushing as Finn glared down at her. “I find that my blood is still racing after this battle, and I seem to have worked up quite an appetite.”

Theo wolf whistled softly at her subtle insinuation, and Finn looked shocked before a smile crept across his face.

“Will luncheon be enough to satisfy you, my bloodthirsty Lioness?” Finn smirked then, Hermione letting out an internal sigh of relief that Bellatrix had been proven correct. “I myself am usually famished after a fight such as this.”

“Alas, I have been commanded only to saite my physical hunger, Finn,” she replied, looking up through her lashes at him, seeing Bellatrix smirking at her deft manipulations. “However I am confident you are uniquely suited to take care of any other...needs...that may arise.”

Taking her arm, Finn nodded to Blaise and Theo before angling her toward the Floo. 

“Then let us get you fed, little witch, before you are tempted to take a bite out of me.”

Sharing a conspiratorial grin with Bellatrix, and suddenly looking very forward to luncheon, Hermione allowed Finn to to guide her to the fireplace, snaking an arm around his waist to pull him closer.

When they reached the Floo, Finn stopped, turning to her. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight, her arms slipping up to encircle his neck. She looked up at him, overwhelmed by the emotion she saw displayed so nakedly on his face.

“If I had hurt you…” he began, before Hermione shook her head, not wishing to argue again.

“Let me finish, Hermione,” he soothed, bending to kiss her forehead. “If I had hurt you, I would never have been able to forgive myself. I know that we haven't known each other very long, but what I feel for you cannot be rationalized by something so mundane as time. It's as though you were created especially for me, the simplicity of your perfection is far beyond my ability to vocalize. Thank you for accepting me,” he murmured, bending down to kiss her, and Hermione allowed herself to be swept away from the battlefield, far from the emotional upheaval of the last twenty minutes, to a place where only the two of them existed. 

When he broke the kiss, she giggled softly, the sound disjointed as she worked to regain her composure. Finn looked down at her, confusion evident on his now peaceful face.

“I will remind you of your gratitude after we discuss the changes I have made to my bride price, Thorfinn Rowle,” she said, a mischievous look in her eye. 

Finn groaned and pulled her close again, Hermione closing her eyes as she snuggled into his embrace, happy to forget about the protocol society would demand for a few moments longer.


	17. Lessons

Hermione carefully counted out seven spiderling acromantula legs, wrinkling up her nose as the hairs clung to her fingers, dropping them carefully one at a time into the sea green potion. She held her breath until it turned a brilliant aquamarine, before letting out a huff of air as she began to stir it counterclockwise. The movement of air stirred a frizzy curl that had worked its way loose of her braid and she bit her tongue to keep from sneezing. The Antidote to Uncommon Poisons potion she was brewing, while perfectly safe once brewed, was highly volatile at this stage. She counted softly under her breath, knowing from experience that there was a world of difference between thirty seven stirs and thirty eight. 

Finishing the careful turns, she removed the enamel spoon from the cauldron and allowed the remaining portion to drip off it's surface. She lowered the heat and stepped back to survey the potion. It glimmered dimly, and she allowed herself a roguish grin while she congratulated herself on completing the potion, the adrenaline rush of finally completing the puzzle Master Snape had set to her warming up her stomach. He had first mentioned the project to her at the beginning of her apprenticeship, after she had proven that her desire for a Mastery was not just either whimsy or a misguided attempt to please the Dark Lord. It was another six months before he had passed over his notes, her glee at the potential project dimming when she saw the ferociousness of his smirk. Her Master had given her his notes on increasing the broad efficiency of the potion, promising her full credit for the improved draught if she could make sense of his rambling train of thought and adolescent scribblings. Thank Merlin she had already learned his unique shorthand, that alone saved her at least three months of work. Snape had been certain (and Hermione had agreed) that it would take her the entire three years of her Mastery training to be able to solve the puzzle, so she couldn’t deny being quite pleased with herself for completing the potion in just over two. 

Hermione shook her head at her internal rambling, squashing the self-congratulation until she had the chance to test the potion. A beautiful potion did not necessarily indicate an efficient one, and it would do her no good to celebrate too early. She glanced over her shoulder, groaning as she saw the cauldrons stacked haphazardly in the back third of the room she had been brewing in, down in the dungeons of Hogwarts. Snape took a perverse pleasure in enforcing all the old ways of the Masters for her training, with the glowing endorsement of the Dark Lord. As a result, she was forced to complete her entire Mastery with no “foolish wand waving.” She had mistakenly believed herself up to the challenge, thinking her muggle heritage would be an asset. She had learned quickly that a childhood spent washing the dishes left behind by a family of three could in no way compare to scrubbing the dried, crusted remains of Merlin only knows what out of the depths of cauldrons that were almost deeper than she was tall. She double checked the low flame under the potion, it wouldn’t do to ruin all of her hard work by accidentally over-heating the brew, before removing her outer robes and gathering the supplies she would need for her afternoon of scrubbing. Glancing surreptitiously around the room for her sullen Master, she cast a wandless Aguamenti, filling a bucket with cool water before heating it with a mild warming charm.

‘No foolish wand waving, indeed,’ she muttered under her breath as she measured out a portion of grated horse chestnuts, the natural saponins found in them an all natural, non-volatile cleaning agent for the potentially reactive residue in the cauldrons. She had been pleased when Luna had mentioned the non-traditional use for the conkers weeks earlier during a walk on the Lovegood property, as the soaps that she had been using before were much too harsh for her hands. She pulled the thestral tail brush from it’s hook on the wall, and waving a hand at the Wizarding Wireless that sat on the desk on the far side of the room, began the arduous task of scrubbing cauldrons, her hips subconsciously swaying to the new song by the Mandrakes.

Several hours later, Hermione Vanished the watery contents of the last cauldron, flicking her aching wrist to reveal her wand. With a graceful turn of the vine length, the cauldrons flipped over, allowing them to finish drying overnight. She walked over to the potion she had left warming, and measured out a vial for testing. Pausing to redress, she also took a moment to shake out her braid. Hopefully she was finished her Mastery for the week, and perhaps after meeting with Master Snape she could take tea with Minerva. She had missed the opportunity to speak with the older witch at the funeral, and with all the excitement afterwards, she hadn’t been able to catch her before the Deputy Headmistress had slipped back to Hogwarts. She pushed open the heavy oak door, wincing at the effort on her still shaking arms, and felt a wide smile grow across her face at the noise of the students milling about between classes. She allowed herself to be caught up in the flow, getting lost in the various conversations as she was pulled down the corridor to the Potions classroom. 

“My father said that there were a dozen Phoenixes there,” she heard one boy excitedly telling a group of friends as they passed her. 

“I heard the Dark Lord took them all out with a single spell!” another boy chimed in, an awed look on his face.

Hermione shook her head, her cheerful mood sinking slightly as she remembered the weakened state she knew her Lord to be in with the destruction of his last Horcrux. Lowering her head, she hurried into the classroom, lightly closing the door behind her.

“Master Snape,” she called out lightly, knowing the wizard would probably be in his storeroom, clearing the evidence of rummaging hands. He was meticulous in his organization, which he claimed was the result of an incident of theft some seven years previous. She had gazed at him with wide eyes, wondering aloud who would be foolish enough to steal from the great Potions Master Severus Snape. The week she had spent dissecting flobberworms had almost been worth the look on his face.

He came out of the storeroom, parchment and quill floating behind him as he dictated which ingredients would need to be purchased soon. He raised an eyebrow at her, motioning to his desk as he continued to speak in low tones. Hermione walked over and stood to the left of his chair, waiting for him to join her. Pausing before a charmed window, he finished his recitation, and the parchment folded in on itself before disappearing to the apothecary with a soft pop for re-ordering. He walked across the room to join her, lazily casting his hand behind him as the classroom shuffled itself back into order, tables straightening and bits of parchment zooming into the bin. He sat heavily in the chair on her right, his hand pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Merlin save me from sixth years,” he muttered, stretching his legs out under the walnut desk. Hermione reached in the pocket of her robes and removed the vial of potion she had bottled. She laid it on the desk in front of Snape and began to run her hands through his ebony hair. The wizard groaned softly, his head falling back as she added more pressure to his scalp. “I am unsure what happens in the heads of these students after passing their OWLs, but…” Snape trailed off, having opened his eyes to see the potion lying on the desk in front of him.

“Apprentice Granger?” he asked, picking up the vial as she extricated her hands from his hair. “Explain this. I set no brewing tasks for you this afternoon.”

“I apologize, Master Snape,” Hermione began, her eyes falling to her now clasped hands. She was proud of her success, but she had not technically been given permission to brew today. “After the events of this morning, and that bloody luncheon, I needed the mental distraction of another attempt at my Proving Task. I am hoping that this potential success might factor in to any decisions you make about punishment.”

“Apprentice Granger, why do I restrict your brewing days?” Snape asked, rolling the vial between his fingers, his dark eyes on her, sharp and cutting.

“A Potions Master is equally as skilled in the art of brewing as they are mentally sharp in their knowledge of ingredients and all of their potential,” she recited, internally flinching at the look he sent her way.

“And why, pray tell, did I forbid you from brewing today?” he sneered, rising from his desk and striding towards a tall cabinet located on the far wall next to a dusty collection of all types of preserved specimens.

“I didn’t think that I was forbidden, per say,” Hermione began, jumping as Snape whirled around and snapped his wand in her direction. She whined as she was pinned to the wall, her arms stretched above her head. 

“You. Do. Not. Think,” her Master ground out, savagely opening the cabinet door and appraising the contents. After several minutes, he smiled darkly and pulled out a cut glass jar with an inky liquid inside. He turned back to her, the cabinet closing and locking behind him. “I forbid you from brewing today, Apprentice Granger, because I knew that your mental state would be such that you would be highly likely to muck up anything you attempted. You do not have the ability to emotionally remove yourself from your actions. You are still too much like an easily excitable child.”

Hermione’s eyes flashed at the insult, and she opened her mouth to defend herself from his words.

“No, do not speak. I am a generous Master, Apprentice Granger. I will give you a chance to prove me wrong, never fear. This is the result of your first Proving Task?”

“Yes, Master Snape,” she whispered, heart thudding in her ears as she tried to discern what was in the jar.

“And you do not believe your highly emotional state this morning, and I daresay through all of luncheon, affected your ability to brew this to perfection?” Snape continued, his voice like velvet now as he stalked toward her, robes flowing slightly behind him.

“N-no, Master Snape,” she stammered, attempting to swallow around the lump in her throat.

“Tsk, tsk, Apprentice. That is not the confidence I am looking for in my apprentice, especially one who has surpassed the need for the guidance of her Master,” he came to a stop in front of Hermione, laying the vial of Antidote on his desk. “Have you figured out what this is yet, Miss Granger?” 

Staring at the thick black liquid in the jar, Hermione shook her head, it looked like nothing she was familiar with. It was dark enough to be Giant Squid ink, but the viscosity of the liquid was more similar to that of Muggle motor oil.

“How disappointing,” he sneered. “This is Putrefaction Poison,” he supplied, smiling at the contents as he swirled the jar around. “As it only takes a mere ten drops to begin the decaying process from the inside out, imagine how it might feel if one were to swallow an entire teaspoon? Feeling your stomach begin to shrivel and blacken, the bacteria released by this potion speeding up the decaying process while your mind is still very much aware of the process.” He set the jar on the desk, transfiguring a spoon from a quill while never breaking eye contact with the witch still pinned to the wall, her breath loud in the otherwise quiet classroom. “They say it is a feeling that cannot be adequately described, it is so unique. Do you still have such faith in your abilities to brew a flawless Antidote to Uncommon Poisons?” He measured out a generous dose, his eyes hard as he raised the spoon to her lips.

Pointlessly, Hermione pressed her lips together and turned her head away from the cool metal, her stomach roiling at the thought of ingesting the poison. While she was confident in her ability to brew, knowing that she was perfectly capable of compartmentalizing her emotions, she had no desire to experience the effects of the Putrefaction Poison firsthand. She had so been sure that they would test her Antidote on a prisoner, or in her happier daydreams Alecto Carrow, and the thought of utilizing her own self as a guinea pig was not to her liking. Her Gryffindor tendencies didn’t sway her that strongly, thank you very much. 

She turned pleading eyes to Master Snape, praying to Merlin for mercy, and her heart fell to her knees at the blankness she saw in his eyes. He was Occluding, and more strongly than she had seen in over a year. The Dark Lord’s weakening had affected him greatly, and his coldness with her now was the result. She knew that there would be no getting through to him, not in this mental state, but she was going to try anyway.

“Our Lord will be alright, Severus,” she murmured, arms straining as she tried unsticking herself from the wall. “He has traveled this path before, He knows how to regain the fragment. You’ll see, He will wait until after graduation to begin his travels, and I am certain He will take you with Him, you are His most trusted-” her rambling was cut off by Severus’ long fingers pressing themselves against her throat, the cool opal stones aiding in his pursuit of blocking her intake of air.

“You know nothing,” he began, his eyes burning with a shallow fire, one that she was sure was shielding the anxiety he was preventing himself from feeling. “You foolish, simple child. Enough of this. Imperio.”

Instantly, Hermione sagged against the magical pressure holding her to the wall. What was it Master Snape needed her to do? That’s right, swallow the black liquid. Why didn’t she want to do it? It was bad, it would hurt her, no it was alright. It would only hurt for a moment, the barest of seconds, and then Master Snape would make it all go away. Master Snape would never hurt her, not unless she was a bad Apprentice. She needed to be a good Apprentice--Hermione whimpered at the thought of displeasing Master Snape. He was a good Potions Master, patient and intelligent, why would she want to disobey him?

“That’s it, Hermione, open your mouth,” Snape urged, moving the spoon nearer to her lips. “There you go, Princess,” he smirked, tipping the contents down her throat, waiting until she had just begun to swallow before lifting the curse. 

Instantly, Hermione began sputtering and gagging, futilely attempting to rid her body of the poison she had ingested.

“You utter bastard,” she rasped, choking on the thick poison coating her throat. 

“There, there, dearest. You do want to be a good apprentice, don't you?” He jeered at her, his glee at her house elf like mental ramblings apparent on his face. “The Good Master Snape will make it all better, you'll see.”

He unstoppered the glass vial, pausing to admire the sheen of a perfectly brewed potion as she screamed, the poison working quickly to blacken and swell her stomach and throat. The pain was like nothing she had ever felt before, her brain struggling to identify the sensations even as her ability to think clearly was compromised. The spell holding her to the wall was the only thing keeping her from writhing in pain, and the forced stillness served to further amplify the agony she was experiencing. Suddenly, Severus pinned her head to the wall with his long cold fingers, and when she opened her mouth to scream again, the sound gurgling it's way through her ravaged throat, he tipped the vial into her open jaw, his fingers quickly massaging her throat to ensure she swallowed it.

Almost instantly, she could feel the relief, a cooling where that had been only a dark blistering pain, and she sighed, her brain clearing once more. Severus waved his arm as he strode once more to take his seat at his desk, and she fell in a heap to the stone floor, her breath coming in great gasps. She allowed herself a moment to clear her head, and as she turned her head to face him once more, she let out another scream as her stomach began to repair itself, the Antidote providing no relief to the rebuilding of her stomach lining. Severus grinned darkly as he pulled a stack of essays out of a drawer and began savagely grading them, his quill slashing almost violently across the thick parchment.

Almost ten minutes later, Hermione pulled herself up from the floor, her forehead damp with sweat. After that final scream, she had allowed him no further pleasure from her punishment, and now she felt an almost perverse joy in the success of her Antidote. The rush of achievement thrummed through her, the adrenaline rush of achieving something believed to be nigh on impossible giving her the strength she needed to face her Master now. 

“I believe I have succeeding with my first Proving Task, Master Snape,” she rasped, her throat still raw from it’s healing. “May I take my leave?”

“You may, Apprentice Granger,” Severus replied, his eyes still raking over the essay in front of him. 

She paused, hoping for praise from her Potions Master, before resignedly turning to the door to leave. Severus was correct, she was a child. Still craving approval from those around her, validation that she was the most clever. How disappointing, then, that she had chosen to pursue a Mastery with one such as he. She would never find coddling words from him. 

“Miss Granger?” Severus called, as she neared the door to the classroom. She stopped, refusing to turn and give him the satisfaction of seeing the tears welling in her eyes at his casual dismissal of her success that day. 

“Miss Granger,” he repeated, his voice firm. She heard the chair scrape across the stone and his robes rustle lightly as he stood from the desk. Rubbing an arm aggressively across her eyes in a surely futile attempt to remove the evidence of her emotional state, she turned to face him, her eyes fixed firmly on the ground. 

Severus sighed, sounding pained, as he crossed the room to stand before her. She noted with detached interest that he had changed his robes since the funeral while she waited for him to speak again.

“I am proud of you, Princess,” he said simply, opening his arms to her. Darting her eyes to his, she was relieved to see his own clear gaze meeting hers. A sob broke free as she rushed into his arms, and he held her tightly, running his fingers over her hair. “My clever, clever girl. You are such a treasure to me.”

She allowed herself to relax into his embrace, knowing what it cost him to hold her so casually. Hermione could feel the rage at the ease with which he had poisoned her lessen slightly, realizing he would only have done so if he had been confident in her ability to successfully brew the Antidote, regardless of his caustic words to the contrary. She would not forget the gleam in his eyes as he had Imperioed her, however, and would not be so eager to disobey his commands in the future.

“You are such a contradictory man, Severus,” she teased, knowing that she was being held by Severus, Master Snape would never take the time to comfort her like this. “So quick to attempt assassinate your favorite Apprentice, then cuddling her afterwards.”

As she knew it would, her words caused the tall wizard to stiffen, and she removed herself from the embrace. Severus tilted her head up to meet his eyes, a soft almost smile playing at his lips. 

“Thinking so highly of yourself, Miss Granger? Whatever would the Dark Lord say about your hubris?”

“I would think that you can ask him yourself, after dinner. Care to take a walk with us this evening, Master Snape?” she asked silkily, her own eyes dancing with an evil gleam as she watched the wizard swallow, knowing that Voldemort would have more than a few choice words for the Death Eater’s hands on approach to testing her Antidote.

“Cheeky witch,” was all he replied as he waved a hand toward the door, wincing as the chatter of Slytherins heading to their common room broke the silence of the classroom when the door swung open. “Bottle the rest of the Antidote before visiting with your Gryffindor menace,” he said, pushing her none to gently through the opening.

Hermione had just crossed the threshold as she felt the door slam behind her, and she couldn’t help the giggles that escaped as she watched scores of students flinch and fall silent at the sound that echoed through the dungeon corridor. She hummed lightly under her breath, smiling widely at the students she passed as she made her way back down the hallway to store the remains on her potion.

Knocking softly on the heavy door, Hermione smoothed her hands over her hair, eager for a late afternoon visit with her favorite former Professor. The door opened silently, the welcoming scent of tea and what she now knew to be catnip filling her nose. 

“Apprentice Granger,” Minerva began warmly, rising from her seat behind the desk. “I admit I am surprised to see you this afternoon, given the events at the Ministry.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed slightly at her former Head’s words. Minerva had refused to leave Hogwarts following Harry’s death, and although she had been pleased by the measures the Dark Lord had instituted regarding the upbringing and education of Muggleborn students, there were still moments when Hermione simply wasn’t sure what to make of the Scottish witch’s words. Voldemort viewed her as a non-liability, following what he called a ‘delightful’ conversation with the witch ten years his junior, but as with Regulus, sometimes Hermione simply chose to keep her own counsel. 

“I find I am pleased that there were no casualties,” Minerva continued, waving an arm at the tea service that popped into existence on the table near the roaring fireplace, where they usually sat for these visits. 

Hermione relaxed at the witch's words, hearing in them what they were, reassurance that Minerva was on the correct side of the ongoing conflict.

“I shall miss Nagini dearly,” Hermione replied, with a slight bite in her tone, and the older witch flushed at the reminder that they had suffered a loss that morning. 

They made their way across the room in silence, Hermione internally flinching at the sheer volume of tartan present in the space. No matter how large the space, it always took her a moment to acclimate to the visual overload. Taking the familiar seat, she nodded her thanks as Minerva handed her a cup of tea, with one sugar and a dash of milk, just as she preferred. She smiled before taking a sip, wincing slightly as the hot liquid passed over her newly healed throat.

Minerva raised an eyebrow but said nothing, choosing instead to select a buttery shortbread cookie from the tray between them. After taking a bite, she cleared her throat.

“I hear Mr. Wood will be joining us in the fall, Miss Granger. I know as Deputy I should be impartial to these decisions, but I must admit I was quite pleased by the Headmaster’s decision.”

“I do not for one second believe that Master Snape had any true intentions of hiring Marcus for the position, regardless of his passionate attempts at arguing for his former team Captain. He was a brute while we in school, and he has become no less foul with age. With Oliver we can be assured of impartiality, as well as a softer hand when it comes to House points,” Hermione took another sip of her tea as she eyed a berry tart on the serviette, relieved that there was no pain accompanying her second swallow.

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that, if I were you, Miss Granger. Mr. Wood has a great many traits, but I believe the Quidditch cup will be a permanent fixture in my office for many years to come,” the witch replied, a look of pride in her eyes as she glanced at the empty space on the mantle.

Hermione snorted, and said simply, “As it should be, Professor.”

The rest of the visit was enjoyable, as Hermione proudly told Minerva of her success with her Proving Task that afternoon. She left out the details of the circumstances with which they had tested it’s efficacy, and she basked in her former Professor’s ample praise. She had enjoyed two of the berry tarts and a second cup of tea before beginning to think of returning to Nathair Manor, and as her thoughts began to drift to seeing the Dark Lord that evening, Minerva set her cup down and eyed Hermione thoughtfully.

“Tell me Hermione, what happened this morning, after the funeral? They said that Charlie Weasley instigated the attack?”

Stiffening, Hermione nodded, setting down her own cup and turning to face Minerva full on. “He had with him a group of five, well I hesitate to call them fighters. Outside of Seamus, I recognized none of them. Our Lord was merciful with the youngest, sending Luna after her when she chose to flee rather than fight. She may be sadistic when faced with adults, but she would be sure to do her playing after the witch be beyond any ability to feel it.” She scoffed as the other witch paled, pressing on with her recounting. “They were little more than children, Minerva, I doubt that two of them were even seventeen. Children! They have no place on a battlefield. I am disgusted at the tactics Neville is using, but it does reek of desperation, recruiting teenagers to fight battles he is unwilling to engage in himself.” She said the last with a gleam in her eye as she watched the witch swallow, knowing that her words damned not only Neville, but Dumbledore, and by extension the witch in front of her, who had done nothing to aid Harry, Ron and herself when they had found themselves in a similar situation. 

“I do find myself wondering who those children were, Professor,” Hermione practically purred, enjoying the look of fear that crept into her green eyes. “Severus didn’t recognize them, but then again, it is not unusual for the Headmaster to know the majority of his students by name only, especially if they are in a House that is less familiar to him. It is curious, isn’t it,” she continued, smirking as the older witch flinched when she revealed her wand, raising an eyebrow at Minerva as she used it to Vanish the tea tray back to the kitchens, as was her custom. “That Neville never seems to run out of these seemingly disposable children, running his raids and stocking his cupboards. One does begin to wonder who is filling their impressionable heads with tales of the Greater Good, urging them to forsake their families and their futures to fight an impossible war.”

Hermione tapped her wand against her knee as she watched the Deputy Headmistress, eyes narrowed as she catalogued her minute reactions to her thinly veiled accusations. Minerva was a formidable woman, and her stern countenance gave little away. Unsatisfied, but knowing that she would get nothing from the reticent witch, she gripped her wand more firmly. 

“Obliviate,” she said calmly, removing the last several minutes of conversation from Minerva’s head. She replaced it with a rather impassioned speech about the moving tribute to Prianka at the funeral that morning, praising Theo and Pieter’s unique way to honor their sister’s memory. Minerva blinked at her, before nodding.

“I agree, Miss Granger, it was quite a moving display. Ending such a ceremony on a less somber note was a wise choice,” she agreed, glancing down in surprise to see the tea tray missing. “I apologize, my dear, I seem to be more tired than I thought. Would you be alright if we ended our visit a little early today? I do have quite the stack of essays to grade, and they are going to be much more taxing than the usual, I fear.”

Letting out a soft laugh, Hermione stood, stepping over to help Minerva to her feet. “Sixth years?” At the other’s witch’s affirmative nod, she continued. “Severus voiced a similar complaint after his class this afternoon. Why he continues to teach the upper level potions classes I do not know. He seems to detest it so.”

Minerva chuckled, the familiar sound bringing a genuine smile to Hermione’s lips as they walked, arm in arm, to the door. 

“Knowing Severus as I do, Miss Granger, I believe the answer is two fold. For the first, he is aware that he is far and away the best to teach those who have qualified for NEWT levels potions. His additional duties as Headmaster do not limit him the ability to teach classes, it was only Albus’ vast extracurricular responsibilities that kept him from doing so. Traditionally the Headmaster will teach either the Advanced or Introductory level classes in their chosen subject, as a way to keep in touch with the students of the school. As to the second,” the pair paused as they reached the door, the corridor silent, with all the students otherwise engaged and out of the academic wings. Hermione looked up at the taller witch, an unidentifiable emotion stirring her heart as she saw the warmth in her former Professor’s regard of her. “I think he just enjoys the familiarity he finds in being the feared Bat of the Dungeons.”

Later that evening, Hermione stood in her closet, hair still damp from her hurried shower, hand on her naked hip as she pondered her choice of attire for dinner. Friday evenings were typically larger affairs that went late into the night, the Dark Lord hearing reports from each of his Inner Circle as they all enjoyed each other’s company. She was unsure if they would be proceeding as usual this evening, given the events of the morning. Voldemort had been occupied with Ginny and Bellatrix when she had returned, so she had been unable to ask. Hermione felt a dreamy smile on her lips as she imagined the punishment her Lord had meted out, a familiar thrum of arousal coursing through her as the Darkness in her coursed to life. Forcing herself to focus on choosing robes for dinner, she decided on a slim cut set of forest green robes, running her fingers over the ivory and lace underdress as she pulled it from the rack. Calling for Jilly as she left the closet, she shook her head at her foolishness and decided to simply ask the elf who had been invited to dinner that evening.

“The Dark Lord, Missus Bella, Narcissy, Alecto and Everlid--” Jilly, dressed this evening in a surprisingly flattering cobalt blue sundress, began rattling off names as she helped Hermione into her robes.

Hermione paled as she looked down at the elf, slipping her arms into the bell sleeves of her chosen robes.

“Mistress Everlid, Jilly? Is Mister Aldrich coming to dinner as well?” she asked tentatively, not looking forward to seeing her talkative future mother in law again so soon.

“Yes, Mistress ‘Mione,” Jilly replied as she magically tightened the bodice of the ivory dress, the wide grin slightly disturbing on her tiny face. “Master Thorfinn be coming too, and he is being eager to see you.”

“Please, Jilly, call him Finn. I don’t think he likes being called by his formal name, and you will be spending a lot of time with him,” Hermione said, slightly distracted as she scrutinized her choice of attire in the full length mirror outside her closet. She didn’t typically fuss overmuch with her outward appearance, trusting her own eye for color and Jilly’s experience to keep her from making a fool of herself, but somehow knowing that Everlid would be in attendance had her caring a bit more than usual. “Do you think that these robes are too informal?”

“Mistress ‘Mione is beautiful as ever!’ Jilly insisted, tugging a wrinkle out of Hermione’s under robe. She looked up at Hermione, her eyes narrowing as she saw the curls beginning to dry and frizz. “Excepting your hairs. Jilly needs to be getting to work!”

A half an hour later, Hermione grinned widely at her reflection in the mirror, pleased with the image looking back at her. The mirror was Charmed, and she bid the image inside to turn around with a twirl of her finger. Her robes were understated, but the dark velvet was flattering. Her over robes were open in the front, emphasizing her slim waist. They were fastened with a pearl buckle, right at her waist. The sleeves were slashed from the elbow, and Hermione couldn’t resist twirling in a circle or two herself, just to watch them flutter. She had transfigured her amethyst pendant into a bracelet, and her betrothal necklace shone without any competition. Running her fingers over the smooth stones, she frowned softly as she remembered how they had felt pressing into her neck. She raised a hand to the updo Jilly had created, and knew that this would be her favorite creation ever. The elf had charmed her curls softly, Sticking the tendrils up, one by one, the result a haphazard looking tumble of ringlets, that she just knew would have Finn dying to get his hands in it. Jilly looked over the look with a critical eye, a thin finger tapping her chin thoughtfully. Eyes brightening, she snapped her fingers, an ivory moonflower appearing in her hand. She tucked the lemon scented blossom into her curls, sighing happily at the result.

“Master Thorfinn will have no breath, Mistress,” Jilly grinned, her joy at her creation causing her to actually vibrate with energy.

“It’s lovely, Jilly,” Hermione breathed, reaching down and gathering the excitable elf into her arms. “Thank you so much for helping me get my confidence back.”

She sat back down at her vanity, opening a drawer to remove the perfume Severus had given her for Yule. The jasmine notes would compliment the delicate scent of the Moonflower in her hair.

“Hermione?” Finn’s voice called softly, his tone hesitant. “Are you ready for dinner? I am to accompany you down.”

Hermione waved a hand toward the door, and it swung inward, revealing Finn’s imposing frame in the doorway, his black over robes and untamed hair emphasizing his dark appeal. His robes were clasped with intricate knotwork, and as he walked in the room, the blue of his cravat increased the already intense blue of his eyes. Hermione allowed her eyes to rake over the wizard, her wizard, and her stomach clenched at the thought of being alone with him again. She made not attempt to hide her perusal of the man, her eyes darkening as she studied him. He allowed her the appraisal, smirking at her with a gleam in his eye. She removed the stopper from the crystal bottle, dabbing the delicate scent behind her ears, on her wrists, and finally, her eyes meeting Finn's, in between her breasts. His blue eyes glowed as he watched her, and she placed the bottle back in the drawer, closing it wandlessly as she rose. Finn's exhaled breath was harsh in the quiet room, and she lifyed her eyes to his to see him staring at the image she presented.

“See something you like, Master Rowle?” she asked, twirling a loose curl around her finger and jutting out her hip.

“You are exquisite, my little lioness,” he said, crossing to her. He bent and kissed her softly, nuzzling her neck and breathing deeply before taking her arm in his and nestling her next to him. 

They travelled down the staircase, talking softly, until they made it to the drawing room. Hermione stepped toward the door, but Finn held her back. She looked up at him questionably, and he said, almost apologetically, “I have to precede you in every room.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, detangling her arm from his.

“Protocol again?”

“My apologies, Hermione, I know that you find it distasteful, but it is tradition,” Finn answered, pushing his hair back from his face before taking a step forward and into the open doorway.

Hermione waited until he had taken several steps into the room and turned to face her before asking in a loud voice, “Is it safe for me to enter? Has everyone been made aware of my newly affianced state, so that they won’t make the mistake of speaking to me?” She could hear laughter ring out, and she smirked, raising an eyebrow at Finn.

To her surprise, Finn narrowed his eyes at her, crossing back to the doorway with two long strides and grabbed her arm, tucking it back into his. “Smile,” he hissed, leading her to where his parents were sitting with the Dark Lord. She touched a hand to the necklace around her throat, wondering if she needed to loosen the fit, just as Finn amended his words. “I’m sorry, I’m still in knots from this morning. Smile if you would like, but please don’t tease me overmuch this evening.”

Hermione’s eyes softened, and she laid her free hand upon his arm. She squeezed it lightly as they reached Voldemort, Hermione relieved to see his color back to normal.

“Master Thorfinn, Lutea,” he greeted, not rising from his seat. Bellatrix was seated to his right, and she smiled at the pair, a content look on her face. Hermione had to bite her lip to keep from smirking when she realized Ginny was nowhere to be seen. Finn bowed slightly to the Dark Lord as Everlid and Aldrich stood to embrace Finn. Hermione inclined her head in greeting her future in-laws, Finn keeping her tight to his side. When she realized he had no intention of releasing her, she hissed at him, “Let go of me! I need to greet Our Lord properly!”

Finn looked at Voldemort and shrank back from the predatory grin on the wizard’s face. Releasing Hermione, Finn nodded to Hermione and stepped back, joining his father by the fire as Everlid crossed the room to join Narcissa. 

Without prompting, Hermione knelt deeply before the Dark Lord, before perching herself on his knees. Across the room, Finn stiffened, but if Voldemort was surprised by her action, he did not let it show. She tilted her head back to look at him, and placed a hand on his cheek in question. When he shook his head minutely, her heart sank slightly, knowing his magic was still weak if he didn’t want to attempt Legitimacy. 

Sensing her distress, he cupped her chin in his hand. “It’s not as bad as that, Lutea, I simply overdid myself with Ginerva. I’m sated, not depleted.”

Hermione pouted at the statement, wrinkling her nose as she spoke. 

“I wish I had any talent at all at Mind Magics,” she said wistfully, toying with the buttons on Voldemort’s robes. 

“I’ve already prepared the Pensieve,” he replied, a knowing smirk on his face. “I would like you to share your day with me that way as well, so that you can remove yourself from any memories you deem disturbing.”

“That is surprisingly gracious, my Lord,” she said, nodding to Severus who had just entered the room.

Finn broke free from his conversation with his father and rejoined them near the fireplace. The Dark Lord indicated the seat next to him on the sofa with his free hand, and Finn sat, leaning toward the pair conspiratorially.

“Will you be joining us for our discussion this evening, My Lord?”

Voldemort looked confused, and Hermione jumped in to explain.

“We are meeting to discuss the changes to my bride price, My Lord. I believe Finn wishes to have someone there who also feels that a woman’s hymen is a reasonable bargaining chip.”

“Merlin, Hermione,” Finn said, raising an eyebrow. “I was simply enquiring because my father is interested to hear the changes you have made and desires to be there. I did not want you to feel as though you were on uneven ground, so I told him I would ensure that you also had someone there to provide counsel.”

Hermione blushed at her assumption and replied, “I don’t need anyone else, but if it will make you feel better, I will bring someone. Your suggestion, My Lord?” Hermione asked, correctly inferring that Voldemort would resent the implication that he be the one to accompany her, when there were two other wizards who were acting in the surrogate father role. Although, after his little stunt this afternoon, Hermione wasn’t sure that she wanted to see a single hair on the Headmaster’s head.

“Lucius shall accompany you,” Voldemort said simply, and Hermione stifled a groan as she remembered the last time she had discussed this with Lucius present. Her mind began to dance with possibilities when Voldemort added, “Thorfinn, make sure you confiscate their wands.”


End file.
